Conversations & Observations
by Evenmoor
Summary: Evan Lorne may not be one of the "epic heroes" of the Stargate Program, but that doesn't mean he walks around with his eyes closed- he's got places to go, people to see, and enemies to defeat, too. Series of one-shots: some 'missing scenes,' others filling the spaces between episodes.
1. Misplaced Priorities

**Setting**: During_ Stargate: SG-1 _episode 7.07, "Enemy Mine"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise. Some of the dialogue is from the episode "Enemy Mine". No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Evan Lorne first appears as a one-shot throwaway character in an episode of _Stargate: SG-1_. There really wasn't any filling of his character at that point; pretty much the most remarkable things he did during the episode were annoy Daniel and puke his guts out when they found Lt. Ritter. Nevertheless, I was thrilled when he reappeared on _Stargate Atlantis_. Please, sit back and enjoy this series of one-shot stories starring Major Evan Lorne. Some stories directly dovetail with episodes of _SG-1 or Atlantis_, others are more stand-alone. Cheers!

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><p>Evan stared at Dr. Jackson, half-certain the archaeologist would have a stroke right there in front of him. SG-1 had just arrived at the naquadah operation to locate Lt. Ritter, who had gone missing on a solo mapping expedition, when Jackson noticed the selection of artifacts that had been collected from the surrounding area.<p>

"They've been _moved_," Jackson said, who seemed annoyed for some reason. Maybe he was upset that they hadn't called him earlier, though none of the stuff seemed very important.

"Well, they were _in the way_," Evan replied. Obvious. Why was this so difficult to understand? It wasn't as if they smashed them into little bits or anything. They were all placed nice and neatly on this table in the camp. No one would step on them or trip over them here.

The archaeologist simply stood there, as if trying to come up with some response to Evan's definitive statement. Colonel O'Neill, who had been waiting nearby, stepped over and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Daniel," the colonel said calmly, "go to your happy place." Then, turning to Evan, he merely said, "Go."

A bit nonplussed, Evan turned on his heels and led the search-and-rescue team away, wondering just what it was that happened a moment ago. Maybe this rock and its "peculiar electromagnetic properties" were messing with his brain.

"You seem troubled, Major Lorne," observed Teal'c as Evan led them down the path to where Ritter was last seen. Evan didn't know the big Jaffa well (did anyone, aside from his team-mates?), but he liked him. Teal'c usually only spoke when he had something of merit to say, unlike a lot of people.

"Yeah, why is Dr. Jackson so annoyed at me?"

"I have noticed Daniel Jackson is often more at ease with ancient artifacts than with warriors such as yourself," the Jaffa replied. Evan thought he heard a smile in his voice. "He thinks you show no concern for the importance of the past."

"'No concern'?" Evan asked in disbelief. The casserole they had for chow was not quite agreeing with him, and his stomach twitched queasily. "Hey, I made sure we didn't damage anything! And we _were_ going to call him."

"Yeah, but Daniel likes things _ever_ just so," interjected Colonel O'Neill. "People moving artifacts around is one of his pet peeves."

"We're trying to locate enough naquadah to build ships to defend Earth against the Goa'uld, and he's upset that I moved some old junk around, sir."

"To Daniel Jackson, even worthless objects may be of great value," Teal'c remarked sagely. "He does not see with the same eyes as you or I, Major Lorne."

"That's for sure."


	2. Irritating Duty

**Setting**: Just prior to_ Stargate Atlantis _episode 2.03, "Runner."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

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><p>Evan Lorne wanted to scream. That would, of course, be totally improper behavior for one of the senior officers of a multinational expedition to another galaxy, but there it was. His new CO, Lt. Col. Sheppard, had assigned him and his team to babysit Dr. Parrish, a botanist, on a field trip to P3M-736. It wasn't that Evan hated forests or the outdoors; he'd been on enough missions to undeveloped or unpopulated areas, after all. He just disliked trailing after exuberant and easily distracted scientists, especially in the dark, in an unsecured zones. And he disliked Parrish particularly; he always put Evan in mind of vampires. Truly ironic, given the existence of the Wraith in Pegasus; though in Parrish's case, he sapped Evan's patience, spirit, and will to live.<p>

And he could swear he saw amusement in Sheppard's eyes as he gave the assignment, too. Not that Evan resented the colonel over this. Sheppard was hardly one to sit around all day and make others do the work. But now that he had more personnel to which he could delegate such responsibilities as making sure the idiot geniuses didn't hurt themselves...

It reminded him all too much of the mining expedition on P3X-403 back in the Milky Way, when all those guys were going on and on about rocks. At least the naquadah had practical, real-world applications. Like building warships. Biiiiiiiig warships.

Leaving Reed and Coughlin on sentry duty at the Gate, Evan followed Parrish into the dank, dark forest. The deeper they went, the more his personal antipathy towards the botanist gave way to unease. Whole contingents of Wraith could be lurking in the darkness. Though, given the lack of human life (i.e., food) on this planet, that wasn't very likely. It was far more likely that they'd be ambushed by wolves. Or bears. Or T-rexes...

"You know, when they told me I'd be traveling to another galaxy, visiting strange new worlds, defending humanity against unimaginable alien threats, this just is _not _what I pictured," Evan Lorne drawled to cover his growing anxiety...


	3. An Exciting New Career Opportunity

**Setting**: At least three months prior to Season 7 of _Stargate SG-1_.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or any of the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: This one-shot was actually written before the others. The tone and style is a bit different, but I decided to include it in "Conversations and Observations" because I felt it belonged.

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><p>There are some things in life that all the years of officer's training, combined with experience that earns you the rank of major in the United States Air Force, cannot prepare you for. Most people would immediately think "falling in love" is one of these things.<p>

They're actually right, but another one is discovering exactly what "exciting new career opportunity" you had been nominated for, by whom no one really knows (or is willing to admit, at least). Such was the case with Major Evan Lorne when he was told to report to the Pentagon for an interview with Major Paul Davis. Davis was a "Pentagon liason officer," though no one would say with whom he was liaising. Evan actually had met Davis, who had been a year ahead of him at the Air Force Academy; he had always struck him as taking everything far too seriously, treating every responsibility like a black-ops mission to protect national security. While this made Davis utterly reliable, it could also be downright annoying at times to the far more easy-going, even relaxed, Evan Lorne. Evan hadn't heard from Davis since graduation, so he was surprised when he received his orders. What had Davis gotten into? And what was he trying to drag Evan into?

So, at 0930 on a Monday morning, Evan found himself shaking hands with Major Davis, who hadn't changed much (okay, he hadn't changed at all) from his stiff Academy self. True to form, Davis passed him a folder stamped "Top Secret."

"I know you're probably curious as to the nature of the Program to which you've been recommended," Davis remarked. His blue eyes were bright as they drilled into Evan's head, as if peering into his brain and reading his thoughts. It was more than a little disconcerting.

"Yes, Major," Evan replied neutrally.

Davis continued almost as if Evan hadn't responded at all. "Anything you learn today is classified Top Secret and is to be repeated to _no one _without the authorization of the Joint Chiefs." The Pentagon major paused briefly to let that sink in. Typical. "Also, this program is strictly voluntary. I can tell you that it is extremely dangerous, but the risks we undertake are well worth the rewards."

"If I may speak frankly?" asked Evan.

"Of course, Major Lorne."

"Isn't that just a tiny bit cliche?"

"In this case, it's simply the truth," Davis asserted, his expression deadly serious. "Major Lorne, I can't stress enough how important this program is to the future of our country. We need good men, like you, to ensure that future." He gestured to the folder on the desk. Leaning forward, his face softened. "Look it over. You may not appreciate this now, but once you join the program, you'll never see things quite the same way again."

_Oh_, though Evan, his body growing just a bit cold. _He actually means it._ Opening the folder, he found a document that seemed to reflect Davis's apparent penchant for melodrama, listing all sorts of doom that would fall on his head should he breach the security of the program.

What program? What were the black ops boys up to, anyway? Evan smiled inwardly. This appealed to the same sense of adventure that led him to the Air Force in the first place. He barely glanced up before Major Davis held out a pen, a wry smile on his face. "Welcome to the greatest adventure of them all," he said with a boyish expression of glee.


	4. Delivery From Home

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 3.16, "The Ark," and 3.17, "Sunday"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise. Sgt. Pinvidic, however, is a product of my own imagination.

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><p>"Major Lorne, sir!"<p>

Evan turned on his heel. Sgt. Pinvidic, one of the men in charge of offloading supplies from the Daedalus, was pushing a cart heavily-laden with carefully packed crates and boxes. "Yeah, what can I do for you, Sergeant?" Evan asked.

The big Marine held out his clipboard and a pen. "Got a package for you, sir. Marked 'personal items.' You need to sign for it." At 6'5", the supply sergeant towered over the major; to the uninitiated, he seemed an unlikely man to put in a warehouse, but his mind was a lockbox for lists and numbers and simply knowing where anything (or anyone) was on base at any particular time. And no one was idiotic enough try to steal from this man's stores. If he didn't stare you to death, he could break you in half. Or maybe, if he was feeling generous, he could just sit on you until the MPs arrived.

As the major signed his name in the space Pinvidic indicated, the sergeant expertly extracted a parcel from his cart. Evan happily exchanged the clipboard for his package, though he was a bit mystified as to what was inside it. Instead of heading to the mess hall for chow as he had planned, he decided to return to his quarters and see what was inside. Besides, he was on downtime after the hard work he did rescuing Sheppard's team from that asteroid/lifeboat thing, so he had nowhere special to be for a while.

He put the crate on his bed and popped the clips. Inside, he found a cardboard box with his name written in neat calligraphy. A smile sprang across his face as he gently cut the tape sealing it shut. On top of the packing foam was a letter written on what looked like banana paper, if memory served him.

_Dear Evan,_

_I hope this finds you eventually! In your last letter, you said that, now that your life had settled a bit, you missed painting. I know how much you love it, too, and that it was a real wrench to let it go when you went into basic training. I suspect that this package may take a while to reach you, but I boxed up a few things that should keep you busy and out of trouble. _

_Your dad and I miss you a lot, but that's nothing new. We both know you're out there doing important things (wherever you are). Always remember that we're proud of you and that we love you. Though we do wish you could visit more often. Your sister's kids miss their Uncle Evan more than I can say! They're growing up so fast. If you can, don't forget to write to them, too; they'd be absolutely thrilled to hear from you. _

_This box had better arrive in one piece, or I will definitely have words with the delivery man!_

_Be safe, Evan._

_Love,_

_Mom_

His throat tight, he set the letter aside and examined the contents of the box.

Inside it, packed lovingly and efficiently, were a disassembled easel, a selection of brushes, and a wondrous array of paints.


	5. Less Than An Hour To Go

**Setting**: During episode 1.20, "The Siege, Part II."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or any of the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: Major Lorne first appeared on Stargate Atlantis in 2.03, "Runner." I am working under the assumption that he showed up with the _Daedalus _as part of their relief force in "The Siege, Part III," which is really the only logical explanation for his presence.

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><p>Evan stepped smartly onto the bridge of the <em>Daedalus<em>, his nerves alive with anxious anticipation. The crew and passengers were all on-edge, as well; no one knew what the state of things would be when they arrived at their destination. The best case scenario was that the Wraith had already been defeated by Colonel Everett and the advance team sent through the Gate several days earlier. Worst case, Atlantis was destroyed. _No_, Evan revised that: worst case was that Atlantis was in the hands of the Wraith.

"Colonel Caldwell, sir. You asked to see me?"

The older officer nodded respectfully to Evan from his chair, surrounded by the buzz and hum of his ship and crew. "Yes, Major Lorne. As you know, we should be arriving at Atlantis in under an hour. I want everyone ready to go down there if necessary." (_If the Wraith had infiltrated the city. _Evan could read between the lines as well as the next guy.) "We don't know what we're going to find down there," he stated, echoing Evan's own thoughts. "If there are still enemy ships in orbit, we may not have time to beam down more than a few men and the ZPM. I need you to assemble a team to be ready in case of that eventuality."

"Yes, sir. We'll be ready," he assured the colonel. All the men (and women, too) were already geared up. Some were going into off-world combat for the first time. Had it really been less than two years since that "incident" with the Unas? (His stomach twisted in protest as the memory of Lt. Ritter's mutilated corpse sprang unbidden into his mind.) Not for the first time, he realized that, compared to more than a few of those under his command, he was a greybeard veteran of the SGC.

"Very good, Major. Dismissed," Caldwell replied crisply. The colonel was a very matter-of-fact, no-nonsense officer. From Evan's observations, he had more than earned the respect that some senior officers demanded from their men.

As Evan left the bridge to organize the team, he pondered George C. Scott's classic line in _Patton_: "I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his country." Well, in this case, he supposed the Wraith would be dying for a nice tasty new feeding ground, but it still applied.

Less than an hour to go.


	6. Welcome to Stargate Command

**Setting**: Late _Stargate: SG-1 _Season 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

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><p>This place could not possibly be real.<p>

Evan sat in the commissary, poking at his food; Davis had warned him that the reality of Stargate Command could be a bit overwhelming. Evan had thought that he was exaggerating in his usual fashion. _Nope, Evan, wrong again! _Nestled below NORAD was another facility, one that defied imagination. Traveling to other worlds...

"All right if I sit here?" asked a youngish man with short sandy-colored hair, wearing standard green BDU pants and a black T-shirt. His tray of food was packed with a sampling of just about everything on today's menu. Glancing about, Evan saw lots of empty tables, so it was probably conversation the newcomer was after. Evan wasn't sure if he could put two words together in a coherent fashion.

"Sure, go ahead," he managed.

"You're new here, aren't you? I'm Jonas Quinn." He extended his hand across the table. Evan shook it firmly, noting the firm grip didn't seek to turn the greeting into an arm-wrestling competition.

"Major Evan Lorne. How can you tell I'm new?" Evan asked wryly.

Jonas grinned cheerfully. "You have that sort of dazed look most people get after the ten cent tour. Don't worry; you should have seen _my _face the first time I saw the Stargate."

"What do you do around here?"

"I'm a member of SG-1," replied Jonas, swallowing mashed potatoes. "We're at the front lines of exploration and first contact. It's really amazing stuff, Major - you're lucky to be here."

Evan frowned a bit. "You're not military, though, are you? You don't have the look."

"Me?" Jonas laughed. "Oh, no, I'm not military. I'm just the go-to guy for translating alien languages and other things. I'm a quick study. Of course, having an entire office of reference material helps a lot, too! Any idea what team you're going to be on?" he asked inquisitively around a dinner roll.

"Not sure yet. I don't even know how I ended up here!" Evan confided.

Jonas shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, that's one question to which I really don't know the answer. I got here under rather special circumstances, myself, so I'm no help to you there. Don't worry! Once you get used to the idea of using an ancient alien artifact to travel to other world through a wormhole, everything else just kinda... falls into place," he said reassuringly. "Some things are still weird, even to the rest of us, too, so don't let them give you too hard a time."

"Anything in particular you'd care to share?" asked Evan curiously, leaning forward in his chair.

Jonas thought a moment, then grinned broadly. "Just after I joined SG-1, a Goa'uld mothership showed up in orbit and just sat there. No attack, no communication, it just sat there. So, we called up our friends the Tok'ra, and Jacob came to help us out with a cargo ship so we could get up to the mothership. Turns out that the Goa'uld that the ship belonged to had _seriously _underestimated the brainpower of an Asgard. Thor had actually used the mental connection with the ship to move in and make himself at home. Major Davis was actually the first person to realize something was up with the intercom system."

Evan's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "Major Davis? Not Major _Paul _Davis?" he said in disbelief.

"That's the one! You know, for all his being a paperpusher at the Pentagon, Colonel O'Neill seems to like him. Not a bad guy, in my book, either. Anyway, I was left on the cargo ship with Teal'c for most of the mission, just us two aliens..."

Wait. One. Second. "You're an alien?"

The other man shrugged, a helpless smile dancing across his face. "More or less human, but I wasn't born on Earth any more than Teal'c was, and he really _is _an alien." Jonas gestured with his fork. "Say, are you going to eat that Jell-O?"


	7. New Orders

**Setting**: Almost immediately following episode 1.17, "Letters From Pegasus."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters or any of the _Stargate _franchise.

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><p>"Hey, Colonel, you know what all the excitement's about?" Evan asked Colonel Dixon as he entered the locker room at Stargate Command. "Something's got everyone running around like there's no tomorrow. Did Goa'uld mothership park overhead and someone forget to tell me?"<p>

Colonel Dixon looked up from tying his bootlaces. "Ha-ha, very funny, Lorne. Atlantis finally called in. Now O'Neill's got everyone bouncing like jackrabbits. Whatever was in that message, it wasn't 'Thank you for the champagne, see you soon.'"

"Atlantis, huh? So they're alright after all?" Lorne grabbed his BDUs from his locker. No word had been heard from the expedition since its arrival in the Pegasus Galaxy almost a year ago, and the _Prometheus'_s abortive mission to check up on them had been turned back due to a sudden unexpected battle with the Lucian Alliance.

The colonel shrugged. "They're alive, but in this place 'alright' is a relative term. Could mean 'We've found the answer to life, the universe, and everything,' or 'There's an armada coming to kill us but it's not here yet.'"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Evan grimaced.

Just then, Sergeant Harriman's voice came on the PA. "Major Lorne, report to General O'Neill's office. Major Lorne, to General O'Neill's office."

Colonel Dixon snorted as Evan threw on his BDUs in a hurry. "Good luck, Major."

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><p>"You wanted to see me, sir?"<p>

"Oh, yeah, Major. Shut the door. And sit down, too." The general sat behind his desk, dressed in the same green BDUs as Evan and most of the other military personnel on the base. The only exception being the star on his collar. Of course, that exception made a world of difference. After Evan complied with his order, O'Neill stared at him for several seconds before leaping right into it. "So, Lorne, how would you like to go to Pegasus and help save the backsides of the Atlantis Expedition?"

"Love to, sir," Evan replied immediately. "So long as it's not a one-way trip this time. You know how much I love a return ticket, sir."

O'Neill smirked in an oddly sympathetic manner. "Well, pending the outcome of the mission, you might be put there awhile, Lorne."

"Sir?"

"Let's just say they got a bit in over their heads over there, Major. An entire armada is heading their way. I've already put Colonel Everett in charge of an advance party to provide immediate support to the city, but I want you to command the second wave of men and supplies that will be arriving on _Daedalus_, to be stationed on Atlantis permanently. Oh, and that includes the ZPM, Lorne. You lose it, it'll be coming out of your paycheck," the general said dryly.

"Yes, sir," Evan responded, a bit bewildered by the sudden turn in events. "What about the rest of my team, sir?"

"Coughlin and Reed will be going to Atlantis with you on the _Daedalus_. I know you'd like Stevens there, too, but he won't be on active duty again for three weeks, and we just don't have that much time. As it is, we've got less than _two _before the armada arrives at Atlantis and all hell breaks loose, and we need time to set up defenses. Get your things in order before you ship out. Oh, and on your way, pick up a copy of the Atlantis mission reports from Walter. Knowing him, he's already got them ready for you." As O'Neill stood, he extended his hand to Evan, who shook it in surprise. "You're a good man, Lorne. Much as I hate to give you up, Atlantis is a bit short on officers at the moment. Good luck."

Thinking back to their less-than-stellar first mission together, Evan felt a great deal of pride in the general's remarks. "Thank you, sir!"

"Now, get out of here. Unless, of course, you want to help out with a _mountain _of paperwork." O'Neill ordered.


	8. Good News From Pegasus

**Setting**: Following _Stargate Atlantis _episode 3.11, "The Return, Part II"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

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><p><em>"Unscheduled offworld activation!"<em>

Evan all but dashed for the control room. General Landry was already there, obviously exhausted from his all-nighter thanks to Colonel Sheppard's unauthorized "borrowing" of a puddlejumper (which had resulted in a trip to the infirmary for Major Wallace and Sergeant Siler). Evan knew as well as anyone else why Sheppard and the others did what they did. Part of him was hurt that they hadn't brought him in on the plan, but he also figured they thought he had more to lose than they did. Sheppard, for his own part, would definitely be facing court-martial even if he survived.

"Receiving transmission, sir," Harriman reported. "It's the _Daedalus_."

"Let's see it, Chief," Landry ordered, half-reluctantly. No one really wanted to hear the news, but it couldn't exactly be put off.

One of the screens changed to show the face of Colonel Caldwell. His face was just as stern and unreadable as ever. Did the man ever smile, Evan wondered? Caldwell didn't waste time, however, as he immediately began his report. _"General Landry, sir, I can report that we have secured Atlantis and the Replicator threat to the city has been eliminated. Also, we have recovered Colonel Sheppard and Drs. McKay, Beckett, and Weir, as well as Mr. Woolsey and General O'Neill."_

Landry's simply blinked at the screen for a moment. Evan couldn't blame him; he was just as surprised as anyone. Not only was the news unexpected, it far surpassed anyone's wildest dreams on how the situation could be resolved.

General Landry collected himself. "What of the Ancients? Any of them make it?"

Caldwell's eyes were dark. _"I regret to inform you that all the Ancients were killed by the Replicators long before we arrived."_

Evan was practically jumping out of his boots, itching to know all the details, but he kept his mouth shut and let the general speak.

"So how did you manage to take back the city, Colonel?"

A frustrated expression flitted across Caldwell's face for a brief moment. _"We didn't, sir. Colonel Sheppard's team secured the city prior to our arrival. Apparently Dr. McKay found a way to infiltrate the city and turn the shield into an anti-Replicator weapon using the crystals from their ARGs."_

"So, they raise the shield when _you _get close and instead get turned into Replicator dust." Evan said before he could stop himself. Everyone swiveled to look at him. He swallowed nervously. "Sirs."

Caldwell turned back to the general. _"Major Lorne's assessment is accurate. We performed a thorough examination of the everything down there, and we found no live blocks to speak of. General O'Neill and Mr. Woolsey are eager to return as soon as possible, though the general wants me to inform you that, since Colonel Sheppard saved their asses and the city you should forget the court-martial and get the troops back here on the double."_

"Oh, yes, I'll be speaking to Jack soon enough," Landry said dryly. "And our wandering colonel. Tell them I want them all back here ASAP."

_"Yes, sir, _Daedalus _out." _

General Landry turned to Evan, pointing at the now-dark screen. "That man just made my day, Major." He chuckled and wandered back to the stairs that led to his office, his hands in his pockets.

Evan felt his own face stretching into a grin. "Good news, Walter," he said, clapping the chief on the shoulder. "Looks like you're gonna have a chance to dial the Gate for the Atlantis Expedition, after all!"

"Not funny, sir," glowered Harriman.


	9. While You Were Sleeping

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis _episode 5.01, "Search and Rescue" and 5.02, "The Seed."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: We don't really see anything of clone!Carson while he's in stasis. This is perfectly understandable, as the writers had to worry about a lot of other stuff, too. That said, I still wish they could have worked something in.

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><p>"Hey, Doc." Evan carefully eased himself into the chair and leaned his crutches against the wall. "Nice to see you again. A few things have happened since I saw you last. Broke my leg. Obviously. Itches like hell. Funny story, too. If you count a building falling on you and killing most of your men 'funny.' But we got Teyla back. And her baby, too. Anyone tell you it's a boy? Cute kid - reminds me of my sister's kids a few years back. She named him Torren John. I'm pretty sure you can guess where she got the middle name."<p>

Evan looked up at Carson Beckett's too-still, cryogenically frozen form and shook his head in regret. "Sorry I haven't been down to see you as much as I should have. Guess I felt guilty, about what happened to the other you. It shouldn't have happened, you know? Of all the people in this city, Doc, it _shouldn't have happened to you_. But I can't tell you enough how much I'm glad we got you back. Doc Keller will think of something to get you out of there, and since Colonel Sheppard's team is on stand-down until he's recovered from surgery, she's actually got some time to go over the stuff McKay salvaged from Michael's compound. You know, the one that fell on our heads. McKay's annoying beyond belief, but as the geeks around here go, he's not a bad guy to have around in a crisis – if everyone resists the urge to shoot him. Just don't ever tell him I said that," he chuckled, knowing that McKay's ego was already inflated enough as it was.

But ego wasn't all there was to the aggravating Canadian.

"I think he's more anxious than anyone around here to get you back again, Doc. I know he comes down here, too. He says that he's just checking up on you, but he's probably doing the same thing I am." Evan sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You're not 'just a clone' to us, y'know. It's probably harder on you than it is on us, at some level," he mused. "I've seen some really weird stuff in the past five or six years, and it always makes a person _think_. It was one of the hardest things I've had to deal with – losing you, then getting you back like that. But as far as I'm concerned, you're Carson Beckett."

He grabbed his crutches and leveraged himself out of the chair. "I think you already know you're in the best hands in two galaxies, Doc. But we're counting on _you_, too."

As he hobbled out the door, Evan spotted McKay loitering in the hall, failing miserably to look like a casual passerby. Laughing quietly, he purposefully ignored the other man and continued on his way.

It was chowtime in the mess hall, after all.


	10. The Burden of Command

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 2.8, "Conversion"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lorne, Caldwell, or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: I rather doubt the Atlantis team went on its little day trip without a chaplain ('padre') to tend to the spiritual needs of the people of the expedition. He's my own character.

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><p>Anger and grief raged through him as he led the surviving members of the team through the Gate back to Atlantis.<p>

Dr. Weir and Colonel Caldwell appeared at the top of the stairs; Weir looked at them with such an expression of hope, but it was obvious that their mission had failed. Her face fell, and maybe some part of Evan felt a twist of guilt at letting her down, but for the moment, anger ruled. Caldwell came down to meet them.

"What happened out there, Major?" he asked sternly.

"The mission was FUBAR, sir," Evan replied, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. "The bugs attacked when we got close. Walker and Stevens were KIA." His fingers tightened their grip on his P-90 as the others filed past him. Doc Beckett went straight up to Dr. Weir, and the substance of their conversation was obvious from their faces as they sat down in Weir's office.

Colonel Caldwell's lips thinned as he listened to Evan's report. "Understood. Major, get yourself cleaned up. You're on stand-down until further notice," he ordered firmly, almost unemotionally. Evan wanted to punch him in the face. It took every ounce of willpower to resist the urge. As Evan made to leave, Caldwell stepped closer and spoke again in a low voice only meant for him. "I know you've never lost men under your command in the line of duty before, Lorne. It's never easy. Talk to Heightmeyer or the padre. I'll speak with you later." His expression unreadable as ever, the colonel turned and stepped back up the stairs.

Evan returned his gear to the armory and took a cold shower in his quarters. The frigid water went a small way to numbing the immediate pain, but for a long while after, all he could do was sit on his bed and stare out the window.

Walker had been filling in for Coughlin, who had caught some Pegasus version of the flu. Walker was not a talkative guy, so few would realize that he had a master's in physics from USC and was part of Atlantis's unofficial Mensa chapter. And Stevens - despite having been left behind at the SGC because of a broken ankle when the rest of the team went to Atlantis to save it from the Wraith, he requested to join them anyway. He'd arrived with the bulk of the new personnel on _Daedalus_ several weeks later. Almost despite himself, he smiled slightly as he remembered Coughlin and Reed ribbing Stevens for 'showing up after the party's already over.' Evan couldn't have asked for a better second in command, not in the years they'd shared on SG-23 or in their short time on Atlantis.

He sighed deeply. Outside, the lights of the city glittered jewel-like against the black velvet of the night sky. Intellectually, he knew that there had been nothing he could have done to save Walker and Stevens. But he still blamed himself.

And despite everything, Evan couldn't bring himself to hate Sheppard, the nominal cause of this mess. The colonel was just as much a victim of circumstance as they all were.

Just then, the door chimed. "Who is it?" he called, though he suspected he knew who was there.

"It's the chaplain, Major Lorne," came the man's familiar voice. "May I come in?"


	11. Last Man Standing

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 2.1, "The Siege, Part III"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Lorne or the _Stargate _franchise. Sergeant Pinvidic, however, is my creation.

**A/N**: There's a famous joke about a hill, a troop of bad guys, and two Marines. Too bad the Wraith never heard it.

* * *

><p>As the brilliant light of the Asgard transporter beam faded from his eyes, the first thing that struck Evan was not the sight (he was standing in a rather unremarkable corridor leading onto a balcony) but the smell. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but the brisk salt air was eerily reminiscent of San Francisco. Evan immediately set the thought aside; there was no time for the nostalgia tour. The city was still in danger from the Wraith who had managed to infiltrate it, and the damage they could cause could be catastrophic.<p>

Coughlin and Reed covered him from the rear as he advanced down the hallway. Suddenly, from up ahead came the distinctive report of a P-90. Evan and his team rushed to assist whoever was in trouble. As the door opened, a horrifying tableau struck them.

A single, imposing Marine stood defending three fallen comrades against several of the pale, creepy aliens. The men on the floor were either unconscious or dead; it was impossible to tell which from this angle. But the last man standing coolly maintained his ground, putting a ridiculous amount of lead into the Wraith. Then Evan heard the sickening sound of P-90 jamming.

The one hostile left standing grinned menacingly (if you could call it a grin) and advanced on the lone Marine. The man dropped his P-90 and pulled out a huge, distinctly non-standard-issue knife and calmly removed the Wraith's arm before slicing its throat and burying the blade in its chest for good measure. This entire scene passed in the space of only a few seconds.

The last Wraith collapsed lifelessly to the floor even as Evan and his men rushed in to cover the Marine. They swiftly checked the area, but all the hostiles in the immediate vicinity were dead – especially the last one. Meanwhile, the Marine cleaned the gore from his non-regulation knife and re-sheathed it as unflappably as he had used it to dismember a Wraith a moment before. Then he collected his P-90 and cleared the jam. Only after that did he take the time to evaluate them. "Welcome to Atlantis, sir," he said, saluting Evan calmly. "Sergeant Pinvidic."

Evan returned the salute, a bit nonplussed – even for a Marine, this guy was a cool customer. "Major Lorne, and these are Coughlin and Reed with me. How are your guys?" he asked, indicating the three men on the floor.

"Unconscious, sir. They'll be fine in a few minutes. One of the few _nice _things about the Wraith is that they prefer to capture you alive so they can eat you later." The tall sergeant grabbed up a small device from the floor and grimaced. "Any one of you happen to have the ATA gene?" he asked. "Damn life-signs detectors only work for folks with ATA."

"Let me see it, Sergeant," Evan ordered. Pinvidic handed over the device. The screen immediately lit up, showing a simple diagram of their immediate vicinity with a number of blinking dots at the center of it. "And I'm guessing those seven dots are us?"

"Yes, sir," the Marine replied blandly, though Evan thought he detected an undertone of "no duh Batman".

Evan gazed up at the much taller NCO. "Up for some more Wraith hunting, Sergeant Pinvidic?"

"Always, Major."


	12. Where's a Pilot When You Need One?

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 2.1, "The Siege Part III," and 2.2, "The Intruder"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise

* * *

><p>"Major Lorne, sir. You wanted to see me?" Sergeant Stackhouse stood stiffly at attention.<p>

"At ease, Stackhouse," Evan replied with a smile. "I may be new here on Atlantis, but I've been with the SGC for a few years now."

"Yes, sir," Stackhouse replied, relaxing minimally.

Evan chuckled inwardly at Stackhouse's reticence. The Expedition had been isolated and totally cut off from Earth for a year; it was hardly surprising that they had become such a tight-knit bunch and a little wary of newcomers, especially given the high-handed way that Colonel Everett had apparently treated them when he first arrived. (There was a good reason that Everett's team back at the SGC had been entirely made up of gung-ho Marines.)

"Colonel Caldwell suggested that while we're sitting around twiddling our thumbs waiting for him and Dr. Weir to return from Earth I should get myself checked out on the puddlejumpers. I was hoping you could recommend someone for that task."

Stackhouse's eyes widened a bit in surprise. Obviously, this had not been what he had been expecting. "Well, normally I'd suggest Major Sheppard, sir. He's the best pilot we have, and, quite frankly, sir, the best with the gene, too. But he's gone back to Earth."

"Okay, who would be your second choice, Sergeant?" Evan asked.

"That would be Markham, sir." The sergeant grimaced briefly. "He was KIA shortly before you guys arrived to save our asses, sir."

Evan raised his eyebrows. "Third choice."

"Dr. Beckett, our CMO. Or Dr. McKay..."

"But they both went back to Earth with Dr. Weir and the others," Evan finished. "Is there anyone left on this base with the gene?"

"Dr. Kusanagi, sir, but... permission to speak freely, sir?" Stackhouse swallowed back something.

"Yes, what is it?" This was going to be good; he could sense it.

"You'd probably be safer jumping off the balcony and flapping your arms. Sir. She's very nice and polite and all, sir, but totally useless when it comes to this sort of thing." Obviously relieved at getting that little tidbit off his chest, Stackhouse waited expectantly for Evan's response.

"So, you got a suggestion, Sergeant? I'm all ears," Evan inquired, deciding that a rather more sarcastic remark would not be helpful in this instance.

"Sir, I may not have the gene to _pilot_ the jumper, but I've ridden shotgun enough times to know how it's done. I can talk you through it, sir. I was on the first mission Major Sheppard flew on the jumper. I can do it," Stackhouse volunteered gamely.

After a few moments of considering the alternative, Evan grinned. "I think I'll take you up on that offer, Sergeant. You free for the next few hours?"

"Yes, sir," replied Stackhouse, the last of his stiffness vanishing. "Let me show you the way to the jumper bay."


	13. Storm Clouds and Face Paint

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 2.13, "Critical Mass"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N 1**: Like many fans of Stargate Atlantis, I absolutely love Zelenka and his mutterings in Czech. They're a little touch that really bring the character to life.

* * *

><p>It took several moments for Evan to recognize Dr. Zelenka and his science team. All of them looked as if they had been attacked by a Technicolor mudpit and then rolled in some hay.<p>

When they got closer, he realized their faces had been covered in some sort of paint, and the weeds had been tied to their hair. It made for quite a hilarious picture on a team of brilliant scientists from the City of the Ancients. The normally good-natured Czech stormed by him, muttering angrily in his native language.

"_Ty vole_ _McKay_ _já ti dám, ty seš takovej vůl!_" Evan didn't speak Czech, but he seriously doubted whatever Zelenka was saying was very complimentary towards Dr. McKay. The other scientists wordlessly followed behind Zelenka, their own discontentment obvious. Though whether they were more upset about their state of... color... or their boss's unusually irate mood was up for debate.

A few moments later, Lt. Edison's team passed by, as well, in a similarly colorful state, though they looked in far better spirits than the scientists.

"Hey, Edison, what happened to you guys? I thought they were supposed to be repairing an electromagnetic shield. You look like my sister's kids attacked you with their arts and crafts box!" Evan said in amusement as he joined them.

The lieutenant smiled wryly. "Not far off, sir. The folks on M7G-677 are mostly kids. And they've only just figured out how to _be_ kids again."

Evan glanced in the direction Zelenka went. He could swear that storm clouds still lingered in the air."So, what's up with the doc?"

"He doesn't like kids. Apparently, the reverse isn't true, though; they did quite a number on him, didn't they, sir?" Edison replied with a grin.

"And on you, too, Lieutenant," Evan said dryly, his eyes flickering to the face paint and the weeds stuck in his hair.

"Yes, sir!" agreed Edison cheerfully.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** **2**: What Zelenka is saying really _isn't_ very nice, but McKay had indeed been quite rude to him. Also, please forgive me if my Czech is totally wrong. I took Spanish in high school!


	14. Nursery Rhymes

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 5.02, "The Seed," and 5.03, "Broken Ties."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>"Thank you for this, Major Lorne," Teyla said sincerely. "It means a lot, to the both of us."<p>

"Really, it's no problem, Teyla. You need some time with Kanaan now that he's here on Atlantis with you and Torren here," Evan replied. "And as long as I'm the babysitter, you should call me 'Evan.'"

Teyla smiled that slow, charming smile – the same one that no doubt drew Kanaan to her in the first place. "Very well... Evan. We will return in a few hours. Call me if you need anything."

She gently handed the infant over to him, then left arm in arm with Kanaan, who still had a rather overwhelmed and nervous expression. Poor guy; coming to Atlantis could be bewildering all on its own, but he also had to cope with fatherhood, as well. Evan recalled his brother-in-law's similarly dazed look quite well.

On the plus side of things, Evan mused, they would never be short of babysitters. It seemed everyone in the city (even, surprisingly, Zelenka, who famously hated kids) wanted a chance to spend time with Torren. The little guy was adorable, though Teyla had warned Evan that he only seemed to sleep while she was walking. So, gently rocking the infant in his arms, he slowly ambled down the corridor, murmuring one of his favorite nursery rhymes.

_How many miles to Babylon?  
>Three-score and ten.<br>Can I get there by candle-light?  
>Yes, there and back again.<br>If your heels are nimble and light,  
>You will get there by candle-light. <em>

He kept this up for hours, reciting all the rhymes and stories he could think of, and Torren slept soundly in his arms. Evan met more than a few people on his meanderings, but they saw the sleeping baby and moved on with affectionate smiles.

_Sing a song of sixpence, _

_A pocket full of rye. _

_Four and twenty blackbirds, _

_Baked in a pie. _

_When the pie was opened, _

_The birds began to sing; _

_Wasn't that a dainty dish, _

_To set before the king? _

"You know, Torren," he whispered to the infant, "I always thought the king was a bit creepy to have a pie with blackbirds still alive inside it. It would have to be a pretty big pie, too, to fit all those birds. A lot of nursery rhymes don't really make sense, do they?"

Eventually, he made it back to Teyla's quarters. She and Kanaan had not yet returned; Evan couldn't blame them for taking precious time together. She hadn't yet decided to return to active duty on Colonel Sheppard's team; Evan could see she was having some serious thoughts about the issue. Parenthood could do that to a person. Whatever she decided, though, Evan knew that she'd have the support of Kanaan, Sheppard, and the whole of the Expedition.

"It takes a village to raise a child," he chuckled quietly.


	15. Only Wanted To Grab Lunch

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 3.08, "McKay & Mrs. Miller."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan's stomach growled angrily as he quickly divested himself of his gear. In the past six hours, he had only had an energy bar while hiking through dense brush on uneven terrain in hostile weather, and he was starving. At least his team had come away with promises of tava beans and tuttle root – the two Pegasus specialties had really caught on among some of the Expedition.<p>

The trip had only been supposed to take two hours, a little there-and-back-again trade mission, but then a sudden and extremely violent storm struck on their return trip, and they were forced to take shelter in a cave until it eased enough for them to make it back to the Gate, soaked and hungry.

Too bad that they hadn't taken the villagers up on their offer of lunch.

Now happily dry and warm again, he was in such a hurry to get to the mess hall that he almost collided with McKay, who was proceeding apace in the opposite direction with Colonel Sheppard.

"Sorry, Doc, didn't see you there..." Evan began to say, but the expression on McKay's face made him trail off in confusion.

"Oh, God, I totally didn't see this coming." The Canadian scientist swallowed, his face pale.

"It's just me, Doc. You look like you've seen a ghost. Though around here, I wouldn't be all that surprised," Evan drawled, not understanding at all why McKay seemed so emotional.

"Yes, yes, of course it's you," McKay babbled, obviously unnerved about something. "But it's _you_."

Evan turned questioningly to Colonel Sheppard, who was frowning, arms crossed. "Someone care to explain what the hell is going on here?"

Sheppard opened his mouth, but McKay cut in before he could start. "Sorry! Sorry. I'm just... surprised to see you, that's all. I'm Rod McKay."

"He's from another universe," Sheppard explained matter-of-factly. "Showed up in the containment room for the energy generation project while you were out."

"Ah. Well, that explains everything. Actually, it doesn't. Do I even want to know why you're so surprised to see me, Doc?"

"Rod" shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's just that... where I come from, you're dead. Sorry."

Evan frowned. A similar situation fluttered across his thoughts, involving the long-dead Major Charles Kawalsky and a quantum mirror. SG-1 mission reports sometimes sounded like they were written at two in the morning by a screenwriter zipped up on JoltaCola. "That's more than a little disturbing."

"You're telling me," the other McKay remarked. "You came to Pegasus last year to save our asses from the Wraith armada, then stuck around as Sheppard's second-in-command. You led your own team, you saved our lives a bunch of times. Then, one day, you were flying me back from the mainland in a jumper, and it crashed into the ocean. It was sinking, and the pressure on the hull was too intense. You saved me by closing the bulkhead door before the cockpit was breached. You... you drowned less than ten feet away from from me."

A chill shot through Evan's body. "That accident happened here, too, Doc. Except I wasn't flying." No, it had been Captain Hugh Griffin from the _Daedalus_. Funny guy, full of ridiculous historical trivia.

Sheppard intervened before the conversation could get any more grim. "Come on, Rod. You need to check on that... stuff."

"Yeah, yeah, right," Rod replied distractedly, throwing one last pale glance towards Evan before allowing Sheppard to lead him away.

Evan's stomach rumbled again, reminding him of his own destination. There was something seriously off with this day. With his luck, they'd be serving eggplant casserole in the mess hall.


	16. Ding, Dong, The Witch Is Dead

**Setting**: Following _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 5.15, "The Prodigal."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: Just to make it clear, I really disliked Michael, and not in the "love to hate" way. So, let me tell you, I was unbelievably happy when he finally bit the big one in "The Prodigal." Thank you, Teyla, for finally doing what should have been done ages ago.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, I slept through the whole thing?" Evan sat up, rubbing his head in annoyance. At least his headache had lessened to a dull throb.<p>

Coughlin shrugged sheepishly. "You ran face first into a stun bubble and fell back down the stairs. Lt. Rivers caught you, but you were out cold, sir. Eventually, Dr. Zelenka managed to get control back on some systems, and they _whooshed_ half of Michael's jumper out of existence by activating the Gate from one of the busted jumpers from the underwater bay. Then we all rushed in and took down the hybrids. Teyla and Colonel Sheppard got Michael."

Evan smirked in grim satisfaction. "It's about time someone finally squashed that cockroach." Too many people had died at Michael's hands. Worse was the guilt knowing that the Expedition held a share of the blame in making it possible with their retroviral research.

"Yes, sir," Coughlin agreed. "The colonel needed an icepack and a stitch or two, but we _got_ him. And not getting blown up by the self-destruct was nice, too, sir."

Evan couldn't respond for a moment. "Who turned on the self-destruct _this_ time? Sometimes, I swear those things are more trouble than they're worth." Time and again, self destruct mechanisms had been a huge problem. It was almost cliche by this point, frankly.

Coughlin nodded, smiling crookedly. "Yeah, I'd have to agree with that, sir. And to answer your question, sir, it was Michael who turned it on. But when his jumper got _whooshed_, it lost power and deactivated. We got most of the hybrids when we retook Stargate Ops, though we did capture one or two in the end."

"Any casualties?" Evan asked, more seriously this time. He knew he'd never get used to losing men; it would never get easier. He just grew more adept at dealing with the pain.

"A few guys got hit by stunners during the assault, nothing major there. Mr. Woolsey also ran into the stun bubble and fell down the stairs. He'll be fine. Ronon was actually thrown from a balcony by Michael." Coughlin shook his head in sheer amazement. "All he's got to show for it is a concussion. Ronon's one tough SOB, sir."

Evan nodded appreciatively. "Yeah, he is that. Anything else, Coughlin?"

"Yes, sir – tuttle root soup with mashed potatoes and ham is on the menu for dinner tonight," Coughlin reported with a totally straight face.

"Thank you, Coughlin, that'll be all," replied Evan with equal gravity. Coughlin turned and marched out the door with parade ground precision. Evan finally couldn't hold it in any longer, he burst out laughing.

It felt so good to laugh. There had been too much hardship, too many impossible missions, pain, destruction, and death. This bit of good news was very welcome. Even though he had been unconscious for most of the action, he was glad to have been here.

Dr. Beckett, wherever he was on one of his "Doctors Without Borders" missions, would be even more relieved at Michael's final demise. Evan couldn't even begin to fathom how much the kind-hearted doctor had suffered at the bastard's hands. Dr. McKay would, no doubt, want to let Beckett know the news personally. Evan didn't begrudge him that privilege.

Hopefully, when they recovered the body, they burned it and scattered the ashes to the winds.

Just to make sure, you know.

You could never be too sure when it came to Michael.


	17. The Caffeine Crash From Hell

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 4.08, "Tabula Rasa."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't. He had fallen asleep in a chair in McKay's lab, which had earned him a lancing pain in his neck from a nasty kink, coupled with a pounding headache. A lethargy had settled over him, too; his gear seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.<p>

As he un-kinked his neck, he examined his surroundings.

Lt. Kemp sat limply against the wall, his face paler than it had any right to be. His right hand was perched on the stunner at his hip, but his eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell evenly. Colonel Carter was on the floor, a jacket bunched up under her head as a pillow, with Dr. Zelenka beside her in a similar state. McKay was in his chair, slumped across his desk. The laptop in front of him was dark, probably in power-save mode.

Blinking rapidly, Evan tried to clear the cobwebs out of his mind. What had happened? His eyes settled on a Polaroid on the desk. It was of Colonel Sheppard. Written on the bottom of it, in Evan's own neat hand, were several lines:

**LT. COL. JOHN SHEPPARD**

**-HE IS YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER**

**-TRUST HIM!**

Oh... Oh!

He leaped out of the chair abruptly as he remembered his orders. _Had to protect them, locked up safe and sound._ Unfortunately, his body wasn't ready for the sudden activity, and his legs crumpled almost instantly. Evan caught himself on the desk just as the door opened. Teyla hurried in and slung one of his arms around her shoulders, taking the better part of his weight.

"Major Lorne, I did not expect you to wake so quickly," she said and she helped him back into the chair.

He fell back with a heavy sigh; he looked again at the photo in his hand. Teyla followed his gaze. "How is your memory, Major?" she inquired kindly.

Evan shut his eyes, rubbing his temples as if to scrub the dust out of his brain gears. "Did we shoot you?" he asked in confusion.

Smiling kindly, Teyla laid one of her hands across his. "Do not worry, Major. All will be well now."

"Why do I feel like I'm on the caffeine crash from hell?" he groaned. His limbs felt weak and very heavy.

"Doctor Keller gave you stimulants to keep you from losing your memories as quickly. It was somewhat effective, but you and the other soldiers became somewhat... agitated," Teyla explained. Evan knew that there was far more to it than that. Vague memories of chasing down people in the halls mingled with the fear that some of them might escape. Teyla, locked in a cell – why had they locked Teyla up? They _had_ shot her!

"Oh, God. Teyla, I'm so sorry."

"There is no need for you to apologize. You did nothing but your duty to protect Atlantis, Major. If you had not, it is possible more might have died," the Athosian assured him comfortingly. "I am sure Colonel Sheppard will say the same when he awakens."

Setting down the photograph, Evan glanced around the room, but Sheppard was nowhere in sight. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went with Ronon to distribute the cure through the ventilation system. You are among the first to awaken since then," Teyla explained. "Are you feeling any stronger, Major? We should check on everyone to ensure they are well."

Maybe if he removed his vest, it would be easier. He shrugged it off and set it on the desk before he attempted to stand, more cautiously this time. To his satisfaction, he found he was already feeling a bit better; even his headache had faded a bit.

The city was eerily quiet. It was past 0800 according to a glance at his watch, and normally everyone would already be bustling around by this time, especially in the mess hall.

"The mess hall!" That was where everyone would be.

"Yes, Major Lorne, that should be our first stop. You should probably get something to eat while we are there. It will likely help you feel better," she suggested.

Even though Teyla had told him he did nothing wrong, he still felt guilty about shooting her and throwing her in a cell. Things could have gone so much worse, Evan knew full well. If Sheppard hadn't thought to take that photo, if Evan hadn't trusted it...

"What ifs" were useless exercises, so for the moment he dismissed it and concentrated on the task at hand.

People might need his help.


	18. Far Across the Night

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 2.11, "The Hive."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>A sick combination of dread and helplessness settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach as Evan gazed at the display. But there simply was absolutely nothing they could do against the two massive hives bearing down on the planet below. (It really did look a lot like Earth from up here. He quickly squashed any thought of what would happen if the Wraith ever did find their way to Earth.)<p>

There was nothing he could do to save the people down there.

Nothing he could do to help Colonel Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon.

The two hives loomed in the distance, ugly hulking specters against the black of space. McKay tried again to contact Sheppard on the radio. Again, the only reply was silence.

Evan closed his eyes and sighed. Then he manipulated the controls to bring the jumper about, turning swiftly back in the direction of the _Daedalus_, lurking on the far side of the planet.

"Wait! What are you doing?" McKay demanded, instantly noticing his abrupt change in course.

"Look, we can't raise them on the radio, we can't detect them on sensors, we don't even know which of the two hive ships they're on," Evan said tightly. "There's nothing we can do, McKay, and they're about ready to launch their darts to snatch people up like so many vegetables at a farmer's market!"

The scientist stared at him in disbelief. "So we're just going to _abandon_ them? I thought you military types were big on 'we don't leave our people behind'!" he argued scathingly.

Clenching his jaw tightly, Evan fixed his gaze on the HUD. It was hard to keep his voice steady, but somehow he managed. "McKay, shut up and listen to me. We can't find them from here, even if they are on one of the hives, which we don't know for a fact. Now, from what I know of the colonel, he's a resourceful guy. For all we know, he and the others may have escaped already."

McKay seemed to take a little comfort from that thought, but only a little. Just then, Caldwell's voice cut in over the radio.

"_Jumper 1, what's your status?_"

"We were unable to establish a radio link with Colonel Sheppard or the others on either of the hive ships," Evan reported, sublimating his own emotions.

"Which doesn't necessarily mean they're not _on_ either of the ships. They could have had their radios taken away from them," McKay stuttered, grasping desperately at some sort of hope.

Caldwell's reply was firm. "_We can't make that assumption. Return to the _Daedalus_ immediately._"

"Almost there now," replied McKay faintly, the frustration clear.

"_Good. We need to take those ships out before they start culling. Get back on board ASAP, Major. _Daedalus_ out._"

McKay shot a rather forlorn look at Evan. Of course, Evan knew that the destruction of the hives would mean the deaths of Sheppard and the others if they were still on board.

Once again, the feeling of helplessness surged through him. So close, yet so far away. McKay sat silently in the seat next to him, both angry and scared, but now doing his best to maintain a level of focus.

If Sheppard and the others were going to survive, they had to save themselves. The colonel was an intelligent and downright inventive man – if anyone could get them out of the mess, he would be the one to do it.

As he guided the jumper into the launch bay, Evan promised himself that if he ever caught up to Ford, he was going to kick his ass to the Milky Way and back again for putting them all into this situation.

Hyped up on Wraith drugs or not.


	19. Mutant Gene

**Setting**: Between _Stargate SG-1_ episode 7.22, "Lost City Part II" and _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 1.01, "Rising."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise

**A/N**: Since Lorne went from a geology exploratory team in "Enemy Mine" to a combat & reconnaissance team leader in "Runner," it's entirely likely that he did, in fact, have his own team in the Milky Way. Since no members of SG-23 were ever mentioned by name, I've given it to him. In my mind, it consists of Lorne, Coughlin, Reed, and Stevens.

* * *

><p>"What's your name then?" the doctor asked with a friendly smile. He spoke with a cheerful Scottish brogue and an charming manner that seemed three parts natural and one part cultivated to put patience at ease.<p>

"Major Evan Lorne, SG-23. What's this all about, Doc? There hasn't been some sort of disaster and they forgot to tell us or something, has there?" Evan asked inquisitively. It was an understandable worry, though. Such things were known to happen at the SGC, and they had been pulling people into the infirmary all day. The rumor mill was working overtime.

The doctor didn't seem at all surprised by the question. Any SGC doctor would be used to that sort of thing, anyway. "No, not at all, Major Lorne. It's a wee bit complicated, but I'm running a series of tests to determine the presence of a specific gene amongst the Stargate personnel."

This was a bit unsettling. "Why are you looking for a gene?" Evan pushed, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

"Relax, Major. It's quite all right. The gene in question is one that allows a person to control certain powerful technologies left behind by the Ancients," explained the doctor patiently. "I discovered it not too long ago by a long and painstaking process using samples from the lass they discovered frozen in Antarctica, along with tests run on Colonel O'Neill when he was under the influence of the Repository of Knowledge, both five years ago as well as his more recent encounter."

His natural curiosity reasserted itself. "So, why would we have this mutant gene thing? I mean, we're not Ancients, after all," Evan pointed out.

"I don't really have a definitive answer to that one, Major. It's possible that at some point in the distant past our two kinds interbred, and it was passed down that way. The gene is certainly present in Colonel O'Neill, and I also discovered it in myself. It's a major breakthrough in our understanding of their technology, Major Lorne, let me tell you." The Scottish doctor certainly seemed excited by the prospects.

"Yeah, too bad the colonel's too busy being frozen down in Antarctica to share your enthusiasm, Doc," Evan replied dryly.

"Well, that's part of the reason I'm here doing the testing, Major. If I can find others with this gene, we could make so many discoveries in that outpost, maybe even a way to help Colonel O'Neill. Even as we speak, they're busy setting up a permanent research facility down there. I'm going to be heading down there, myself, once they're ready, along with a group of scientists."

"That's great, Doc. So, what will happen if I do happen to have this gene?" This, in Evan's opinion, was the most important part of this conversation.

The doctor smiled, obviously not put off by the rather understandably self-centered nature of the question. "I don't know the answer to that yet, Major. Possibly, you may be sent down to Antarctica with the research team so we can test the neural interface of the chair device. But they may decide to keep you here at the SGC, in case you run into something offworld."

"Oh, fun. SG team leader to glorified lab rat, all in one sitting. Thanks, Doc." Antarctica was definitely not high on Evan's list on vacation spots, let alone desired postings.

Then again, he probably didn't have the gene, anyway.


	20. A Year Gone

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 3.02, "The Misbegotten," and 3.03, "Irresistible."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan was going to <em>kill<em> Reed and Coughlin.

It was all their idea, he could tell. Those two could be incorrigible when left to their own devices for too long.

Oh, they were _so_ up next for training with Ronon and Sergeant Pinvidic in the gym.

It was often hard to keep track of the days back on Earth as they were different in length here on Atlantis. So Evan could be forgiven for being a bit taken aback when Coughlin and Reed came up to him at dinner and asked him if he knew the date.

"It's, ah – oh, crap." July 22.

Suddenly, the entire crowded mess hall erupted into cheers.

"Happy Birthday, sir!"

Goofy party hats and decorations appeared from nowhere, and all Evan could do was sit there, a stupid expression on his face. Presents in brightly colored wrapping began to pile up around him, it seemed from every single member of the Expedition. He felt like he was nine years old again, when his mother surprised him by inviting all his friends to Chuck-E-Cheese's.

Then the mess guys rolled out the cake. In elegant script, the frosting read: _For a Special Boy – One Year Old_. A single candle perched in the middle of the cake. Evan gave Coughlin and Reed a particularly meaningful glance.

"'One Year Old'?" he asked pointedly.

The two men snickered, obviously enjoying themselves.

"Well, we kinda figured that it would be easier to have one candle than thirty-six, sir..." Reed said with a grin.

"...and since we've been here in Pegasus a year now, we thought it all worked out anyway!" completed Coughlin with an equally amused smirk.

Oh, yeah. They were gonna get it.

Evan blew out the candle without further ado, to the wild cheering of the Expedition, and the mess guys whisked the cake away to cut it into slices. The first piece went to the man of the hour.

"Is that-?" he asked after swallowing the first bite.

"Ghirardelli chocolate, sir," Coughlin nodded. "Sgt. Pinvidic picked it up for us – that guy can get his hands on anything, not matter where he is."

"Yeah, he's like Faceman from _The A-Team_, only bigger and far more likely to snap you in half than con you with a smile," said Reed, who had acquired his own cake. Would that make him the spiritual offspring of Faceman and B.A., then?

"Too bad he got that cold, though," shrugged Coughlin. "Else he'd be here. You know he loves a good piece of cake."

"Poor form to give the birthday boy a cold?" Evan drawled. "Maybe one of you would like to take him a slice."

Coughlin grinned again, then produced a present he had been concealing. "Happy Birthday, sir, from the both of us."

Wrapped up carefully were several blank canvases of varying sizes. Evan looked up in true surprise. He didn't know what to say.

Reed gestured with his fork. "We know you don't have paints yet, let alone the free time, but here's to the future."


	21. On My Way Home

**Setting**: Following Stargate Atlantis episode 3.11, "The Return, Part II"

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: This is written especially for my very dedicated reviewer, Ladygris, who asked to see a meeting between Lorne and Davis after Evan joined the Pegasus Expedition. Thank you so much for your support and kind words.

* * *

><p>Evan waited patiently as Coughlin clipped his pack securely to his vest. It felt good to be returning to Atlantis. The circumstances of their departure had been rather abrupt and unexpected. But the return felt all the more satisfying, especially considering the grief Colonel Sheppard and the others went through to save the city from the Replicators.<p>

Now, the entire Expedition, which had only just finished unpacking and, perhaps, just getting used to the idea of being in the Milky Way again, had descended once more on Stargate Command, to make the long step back to Atlantis all over again.

Much of the equipment would be transported back by puddlejumper, via the Carter-McKay Intergalactic Bridge. Unfortunately, given that the jumpers had a rather limited cargo capacity, it would take more than a few trips to carry all the gear, let alone the people, especially given loading and unloading time. So the _Daedalus_ would be hauling a great deal of it herself, particularly the bulkier items.

As Evan and his team left the locker room, he spotted a familiar face. "Hey, Davis!" he called.

The Pentagon liaison officer grinned as he saw Evan. "I hear you're going back to Pegasus, Lorne. Good luck with that!"

Evan turned to his men. "You boys go on ahead. I'll meet you at the jumper."

"Yes, sir," said Coughlin, speaking for the both of them. They saluted the majors and disappeared down the corridor.

"So, how go things at the Pentagon these days, Davis?" Evan inquired. "Still burying the joint chiefs and the Senate Appropriations Committee in a galaxy's worth of paperwork?"

"If I didn't, then they'd have too much time to come around and poke their noses in _here_, Lorne," Davis replied with a sly smile. "And you know how much General O'Neill _loves_ that sort of thing."

"Roughly about as much as he enjoys face-time with Ba'al," remarked Evan blandly.

"That's a fairly accurate comparison."

In the years since he joined the Stargate Program, Evan had gotten to know Paul Davis a lot better, through the occasional visits Davis paid to the SGC as well as the e-mail here and there. The Pentagon liaison officer was far more than just the stiff, serious cadet Evan remembered from the Academy – he had a keen, sometimes wicked sense of humor that peeked out from time to time.

And Davis knew full well that his nickname at the SGC was "Major Disaster."

"_It seems that every time I show up here, there's a big emergency, something goes terribly, horribly wrong, that sort of thing_," he had once told Evan. "_The first time I came to the SGC, the planet was nearly sucked into a black hole. Things got progressively darker from there._"

"What brings you to the SGC today, Davis? Should I make a run for the nearest elevator while I still can?" Evan teased him mercilessly.

Davis held up a stack of files he was carrying. "I'm just here to ferry a few things between here and the Pentagon. Mostly related to you guys, actually. Restarting the Pegasus Expedition requires a mess of paperwork beyond the actual physical movement of personnel and equipment, you know."

"Ah, yes, the glamorous life in the Stargate Program. When you're not being shot at, you're filing reports and filling out paperwork," joked Evan.

"Just remember to thank Chief Harriman the next time you see him. This place would probably have fallen to pieces years ago if he weren't running things administratively. I can't even begin to tell you how much money he's saved with his creative paperworking, not to mention the man hours." Davis shook his head appreciatively for the rather small, bespectacled NCO.

"Oh, yeah. I don't know how he does it. Honestly, I'd go completely insane doing what he does all day," Evan remarked cheerfully. "You should have seen how annoyed he was the one time I forgot to hand in my mission report for a day and a half."

Davis chuckled. "I can imagine. Anyway, we both have schedules to keep, and I have a plane back to Washington that I need to catch. Good luck out there, Lorne."

They shook hands and parted company. As the cliché goes, destiny was calling.


	22. A View From the Other Side

**Setting**: During _Stargate SG-1_ episode 10.13, "The Road Not Taken."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: I wrote this in response to a request by SerenLyall, who wanted a little something with Lorne in the alternate universe Sam got pulled into, where Lorne is in command of SG-1.

* * *

><p>"With all due respect, General, you've gotta convince the president to let her go," Evan insisted, imbuing the statement with all the force of truth and honesty he could muster. "She's done everything we asked of her, and more. She save all our lives, she saved this entire <em>planet<em>, sir."

General Hammond sat back in his chair, his eyes dark and shadowed. Evan had seen this expression far too many times since Anubis attacked and the world went to hell. "We cannot afford to lose her, Major," the general said. "The expertise and insights she can provide are essential to the continued well-being of this planet."

Evan threw his mind back over the last few years. They had been hard on everyone, especially General Hammond, who had made a good many difficult decisions during his command of the SGC. "Do you remember the Tollan, sir? Colonel Maybourne wanted to lock them up in a nice comfy prison compound somewhere and force them to work for us against their will. You and the president are electing to do the exact same thing to Sam."

"She's not Sam, Major. Sam is _dead_. She's been dead for over a week now," Hammond rebuked him, a hint of anger coloring his voice.

"Yes, sir, _our_ Sam is dead. But Colonel Carter is someone _else's_ Sam. And we do not have the right to lock her up as forced intellectual labor any more than we did the Tollan. She didn't have to save us from the Ori, sir. But she did." Evan would never forget that moment of sheer terror, standing in the control room as the Ori fleet hovered in orbit, ready to annihilate them all.

The general was in pain, no doubt about it. They all were. Sam's death was a huge blow to the entire program, let alone the personal loss of a dear friend and colleague.

"Sir, I know you've known Sam for a lot of years. She was my friend, too. She was brilliant, courageous, and a damn fine officer. But Colonel Carter was not responsible for her death, sir. It was a freak accident. We were lucky to have the colonel make it through and be willing enough to save us. And this is how we repay her? Is this how we honor Sam's memory, sir?"

"And what do you suggest we do, Major?" asked the general quietly. Evan smiled inside, aware that he had just won an important victory. "Who can carry on in her place?"

"Bring in that smart-ass ex-husband of hers, Rodney McKay. He may be a world-class jerk, but he would definitely be able to pick up where she left off. There was another guy Sam mentioned a few times, a researcher at Masaryk University in the Czech Republic. Radek Zelenka. I looked him up. Apparently, he's almost as brilliant as either McKay or Sam, but he's had a much harder life than either of them, and still faces a great deal of opposition and hostility from his fellow academics as well as the Czech government for his open-minded views. Give him the opportunity, General, and I think he'd jump at it. Just don't offer any sort of threat of force, sir. He grew up with that sort of thing, and it wouldn't be effective, anyway."

Evan could see General Hammond mulling over the possibilities in his mind. This was definitely good.

"You know, when Colonel Carter first came, she said that her version of me was part of an international expedition to another galaxy. If you can convince the president to work towards reestablishing that level of cooperation and goodwill with other countries, especially now that we're protected from direct Ori attack..." Evan trailed off suggestively.

"...it might make our jobs that much easier," sighed Hammond. He slowly smiled, to Evan's deep relief. "Now I remember exactly why I picked you to lead SG-1, Major Lorne. You're a good man, and you remind us that we can be, too. Thank you."

Evan nodded as he stood. "Thank you, sir."

As he reached the door, Hammond spoke up again, softly. "She sure was something, Major."

"Yes, sir," Evan replied with a sad smile. "She sure was."


	23. Extraction

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.12, "Evolution, Part II."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Stevens expertly set down the MH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter in the camp formerly occupied by Honduran rebels (a generous euphemism for <em>terrorists<em>, Evan thought). The rusted out hulk of an old derelict chopper nested between rough, ramshackle huts and crates of supplies in the jungle hideaway.

As Evan leaped out of the Pave Hawk, Colonel O'Neill stood up from his spot near the door to one of the huts.

"Let's go, campers!" he shouted to the men inside. "Our ride's here!"

First out was Dr. Lee, filthy and obviously dehydrated. He was holding a bulky object swathed in burlap to conceal it, which would probably have been more important had their extraction team been of the more _normal_ Special Ops types, as the hidden whatever-it-was was likely the artifact that he and Dr. Jackson had come down here to retrieve when they got kidnapped by the Honduran rebels.

While Evan handed Lee off to Coughlin and Reed in the Pave Hawk, Dr. Jackson emerged from the hut, definitely the worse for wear, covered in dirt and blood and limping on a makeshift crutch due to what was likely a gunshot wound to the leg. But he bore it all with far more grace than Lee, whose expression said that he never wanted to leave the lab ever again.

O'Neill gestured and said something inaudible over the rotors to someone else inside the hut, and one more man came out, a stocky, bearded guy in paramilitary gear. Definitely not a local, this guy screamed "gringo," so probably the CIA contact, Burke.

Then both men jogged to the Pave Hawk.

"We're taking Burke here with us," O'Neill shouted over the noise.

Evan nodded and spoke into his headset. "We have a guest on this ride, so mind your manners, guys!" _Don't say anything about the SGC_. At their acknowledgment, he gave O'Neill the"OK" signal and allowed them on board before jumping up himself. He gave Stevens the go-ahead, and the pilot smoothly lifted the Pave Hawk off again, leaving the jungle encampment behind.

O'Neill grabbed a headset and put it on. "Major Lorne, is that you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Evan replied with a smile for the colonel. "I think you know Stevens, Reed, and Coughlin, too, sir."

"What are you all doing down here? I thought I was the only one to get clearance from Hammond for this little jaunt!" Colonel O'Neill said sharply.

"Officially, that's correct, sir. We're just here as Air Rescue according to the books. But we had your six the whole mission, Colonel," explained Evan. "General Hammond didn't want you down here without backup, sir."

"That's great, Major, but when did you get here?" frowned O'Neill.

"I was your C-130 pilot from Peterson, Colonel. The rest of my team was already on board when you arrived from... home base." Evan gave a swift look at Burke, who was grinning like a maniac. He had definitely been down here too long.

"Ah." The colonel's brow furrowed. "I thought you were a fighter jock, Lorne!"

"I'm qualified on a number of aircraft, sir, including the C-130 and as well as the _newest addition to the service_." The F-302 Fighter-Interceptor. Now that was a miracle of reverse-engineered hybrid technology in an incredibly versatile and effective package. He was sorely tempted to pilot one full time, but that would mean giving up his brand new command. "There's a doc standing by to treat their injuries before we head back home, sir, plus a secure crate for the new toy." By secure, of course, they understood lead-lined and shielded. One could never be too careful with mysterious alien artifacts.

"Good work, Major," O'Neill said.

"Thank you, sir!"

Dr. Jackson suddenly picked up a headset of his own. "Aren't you the guy who _moved all the artifacts_ at the _mining operation_?"

Evan's face must have said something, because the nutty CIA operative burst out laughing. "You guys are all _crazy_, you know?"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud..." O'Neill muttered.


	24. Dying of the Light

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 2.01, "The Siege, Part III."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>No one took particular notice of Evan as he stepped into the Atlantis infirmary. Not that he was surprised; he was happily uninjured, and the medical staff had their hands full already, stabilizing and treating the casualties from the Wraith attack.<p>

Shrapnel wounds, broken bones, concussions, and burns were the order of the day. It could have been a lot worse, but luckily the Wraith favored non-lethal stunning weapons in close quarters. Most of the dead would never be found, having been swept up by the darts. Only scattered debris, floating on the waves, remained of them.

At one bed, Evan saw a man wearing an embroidered stole on top of the standard Atlantis uniform, ministering to a patient almost totally swathed in bandages. The chaplain ever so gently grasped the injured man's hand in his own and leaned his ear close to his lips. After a few moments, he smiled slightly, released his hold, and stood up a bit unsteadily.

From the shadows under his eyes, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Evan, cautiously avoiding the distracted doctors and nurses, made his way over. "You need any help, Padre?" he asked, wishing he could do something, anything.

The other man looked dead on his feet as he blinked up at the somewhat taller Evan. "That's usually my line! Theft is a sin, you know." He smiled crookedly. "I'll be fine after a full night's sleep."

He was alarmingly cheerful, Evan thought, though he suspected a good deal of that was sheer exhaustion. He had probably been one of the busiest people in Atlantis.

"Would you happen to know where the colonel is, Padre? I was told he wanted to see me," Evan told the chaplain.

The padre smiled sadly. "Yeah, I spoke with him a few minutes ago. Follow me."

He led Evan into a quieter section of the infirmary, away from the noise and anxiety of the emergency treatment area. To judge by the microscopes and other equipment, it looked like it normally served as a lab, but the sudden influx of patients had required the doctors to repurpose the room in order to cope. "The colonel is over there," gestured the chaplain to one of the beds. "If you need to talk, I'll be here." With a final smile and a brief comradely hand on the shoulder, he returned to his own patients.

Evan approached the colonel's bed. What he saw turned his stomach. The energetic, commanding soldier had been reduced to a trembling old man, weak and helpless. One hand, resting on top of bedclothes, twitched uncontrollably.

It was one of the most horrific things Evan had ever seen.

Oh, he had read the reports, Dr. Beckett's explanation of the Wraith feeding process, as well as Sheppard's gruesome eyewitness account of the fate of Colonel Sumner. But it was quite another thing to see it first hand.

"Colonel Everett, sir. It's Major Lorne, sir. You wanted to see me?" he asked, covering his shock and horror with military courtesy.

"Major," the colonel said hoarsely. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again. "Major Lorne. They're shipping me out with the next batch of wounded in a few minutes. Major Sheppard will be in command of the troops here until Landry and O'Neill send a new CO to take charge here. Get up to speed as fast as possible. You're a good team leader, Lorne, and whoever they pick will need men like you."

Everett closed his eyes, tired even by the brief conversation.

"Thank you, sir," Evan replied.

"Don't underestimate anything here, hostile or friendly," Everett said, slowly opening his eyes again. "I learned that lesson the hard way. That'll be all, Major."

"Yes, sir." Evan saluted Colonel Everett, knowing full well that they would never meet again. He had never liked the man, but he deserved better than this. A few snatches of half-remembered poetry came to mind as he quietly left.

_Do not go gentle into that good night, _

_Old age should burn and rage at close of day;_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

On his way through the main infirmary, Evan saw the exhausted chaplain sitting at the bedside of another wounded man, offering what comfort and simple human compassion he could.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: The poetry is from Welshman Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," first published in 1951.


	25. To the Oceans, White With Foam

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ Season 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: Celebrating holidays becomes even more important when you're far from home. It gives you a vital connection to your home and serves as a major morale boost when everything else seems to be going insane around you. I dedicate this story to all the members of our armed forces who cannot be with us here at home as we celebrate the birth of our country. God bless America!

* * *

><p>Never had a hot dog tasted so delicious.<p>

Evan cast his eyes around the crowded balcony. The Lantean sun was setting in an appropriately colorful display, and the party was just getting started. He promised himself he wouldn't ask how Sergeant Pinvidic managed to get a professional barbeque grill to the Pegasus Galaxy. That man was absolutely impossible.

Through the throng, he saw the towering Marine expertly flip another round of hamburgers and hot dogs, plus kebabs and corn cobs. Colonel Sheppard was having a lively discussion with Teyla and Ronon at the balcony rail – well, _Ronon_ was pretty much as lively as he ever was, but his plate was certainly loaded down. Apparently he enjoyed Pinvidic's grilling just as much as the rest of Atlantis did.

Despite the fact that today was an obviously American holiday, the entire Expedition (at least two dozen member countries) poured into the mess hall and out onto the balcony to share in the celebration. Parties and holidays took on new importance out here, when every day could be your last, quite literally.

"Major Lorne, I trust you're enjoying yourself," Elizabeth Weir said with a smile as she came up from behind, a glass of lemonade in her hand.

Evan grinned, glancing back at her. "Best Fourth of July party I've been to in a long time, ma'am!"

"And it's not over yet, either!" There was an unusually mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Have you seen Rodney anywhere?"

"I think he was with the colonel a little while ago, but he's gone now."

"Thanks, Major." She took a long sip of lemonade and disappeared into the crowd.

As Evan turned his gaze over the ocean, the sun vanished over the horizon. His fingers were itching to hold a brush again – there was so much beauty here to be captured in paint and canvas. As the last daylight faded, the stars glimmered into life, blanketing the night sky.

"_May I have your attention, please._" Dr. Weir's voice came over the PA. Everyone quieted down with remarkable speed. "Today, back on Earth, it is July 4. It is a day to celebrate a country that has become a bastion of freedom and courage. And even though we're far away from home, each and every one of you exemplifies the type of dauntless determination and heroism that makes the United States of America a great nation, a shining example to the rest of humanity. To commemorate this day, I will give you the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

In spite of rock and tempest's roar,

In spite of false lights on the shore,

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee, - are all with thee!

Dr. Weir fell silent, letting it sink in a moment. "Thank you all." This seemed to be a signal, because the familiar shriek of a firework filled the air. Evan grinned as he saw it explode in a shower of red sparks, only to be followed in less than a second by more explosions of light. The Expedition erupted into cheers at the display.

Evan chuckled – it turned out that some physicists like to blow things up. And there were explosives guys willing to help them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: The poem is a part of Longfellow's larger work, "The Building of the Ship." The "ship" refers to the proverbial ship of state. Once again, I wish everyone a Happy Independence Day!


	26. Cell Block Tango

**Setting**: During Stargate Atlantis episode 2.17, "Coup D'etat."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Stargate franchise.

**A/N**: In response to the anonymous review about the previous chapter, in which the reviewer remarked on the international aspect of the Expedition – I am well aware of this fact. It is my position that American Independence Day would have been celebrated on Atlantis, regardless of the fact that it is a multinational group of people, as a _majority_ of the Expedition participants, particularly the among the military forces, are American. Alas, I was unaware that Canada Day is three days prior to Independence Day. Also, given that the story was written _specifically_ for Independence Day, I decided to focus on that aspect of things. Hopefully, this sheds some light on my position for you without "ragging" too much. I further hope that you enjoy future installments, despite any failings on my part as an author.

* * *

><p>There was no knowing how long Evan and his team had been locked in the cell. It could have been hours or days. They had no gear, either – the Genii had taken everything while they were unconscious, down to their underwear and dog tags. And the clothes they had been given to wear instead were annoyingly itchy at the seams.<p>

A pompous, overfed blowhard came by at one point to gloat about how marvelously his plan had succeeded.

"Are you guys after puddlejumpers again, or is it the C-4?" Evan asked facetiously. "Either way, you're not gonna get what you want."

"You have no idea what is happening," the man replied smugly. "But mark my words, Dr. Weir will fall into my trap just as easily as you did."

After a few more minutes of insufferable gloating, he departed, no doubt off to see to the fruition of his diabolical scheme. Whatever that was.

Some time later, another man payed them a visit. Considerably less physically imposing than the other Genii leader, this one had a quiet, calculating air that Evan thought made him a far more dangerous opponent.

"Major Lorne. I am Ladon Radim, chief scientist of the Genii."

"Is that supposed to _impress_ me?"

The scientist smiled slightly. "No, I just thought it would only be fair for you to know my name, since I know yours."

"Great, now that we're done with the introductions, maybe you'd like to think about letting us go."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Major Lorne. You are too important to release," Radim replied. Well, at least he wasn't _gloating_ about it.

"Why are we so important, anyway? You guys have got to know that you won't be able to extort anything out of Atlantis for our safe return." Dr. Weir may be something of a bleeding heart, but she was by no means stupid, let alone easily intimidated.

"That would be true, if we intended to release you at all. You have something of far greater value to us than ships we can't even pilot," the soft-spoken scientist remarked.

"Yeah? What's that?" Evan asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew.

Radim smiled again. "We are even now analyzing samples taken from you while you were unconscious. We know that you at least among your team possess the genetic key to operate the technology left behind by the Ancients. Once we isolate the specific gene, we can find a way to graft it onto our own DNA."

Evan wanted to laugh in his face. He knew full well that Dr. Beckett only located the ATA gene after months of careful analysis, even with the aid of the latest in modern technology backed by years of research by the SGC on the subject of Ancient technology and biology. The _Genii_ could probably search gene sequences for _years, _if not_ decades,_ and still not find what they were looking for. However, he was not about to tell them that, so he kept his expression blank. His men, following his lead, remained likewise silent. "Well, I'm a soldier, not a geneticist," Evan said blandly.

"And yet, you may play a pivotal in the preservation of the Genii people, Major. I'm sure that even you can appreciate that."

"Let's see. My team was ambushed, gassed, kidnapped, stripped of our gear, had genetic samples stolen from us, and now we're locked in a cell with apparently no hope of getting home. So no, I don't really appreciate it at the moment, Radim." No question, Evan was seriously annoyed by this point, and he had no intention of giving this guy any satisfaction.

Radim, though, did not seem overly troubled by Evan's sarcasm. "Your personal discomfort is of small importance compared to the safety of my people. You have no choice but to play your part in the events to come."

Now, that was weird. What _other_ plans did this guy have?

"Yeah, right. I'll let you get back to whatever that is." Evan sat down, crossing his arms.

"Goodbye, Major," the scientist said.

Evan decided not to dignify it with a reply.


	27. Shattered the Night

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis_ episodes 2.16, "The Long Goodbye," and 2.17, "Coup D'etat."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan fired off several rounds from his P-90 before ducking back out of sight behind the crumbling stone remnants of what might have been someone's house ages ago. Coughlin and Reed took the opening and scrambled to join him in his dubious shelter. A moment later, their attackers replied with gunshots of their own.<p>

"You guys alright?" Evan asked his men.

"I'm good, sir," Coughlin replied, his face and the entire front of his body covered in dirt. Reed, breathing heavily, simply nodded.

The attack had come out of nowhere. It had been a run-of-the-mill reconnaissance mission. It had started out uneventful – whatever people that may have lived in the vicinity of the Stargate were long gone, leaving behind extensive ruined stone structures which would no doubt have interested Dr. Jackson, were he here.

The sun was already low in the sky when they arrived on the planet. Evan had been just about to order the return to Atlantis when the first shots rang out, bullets striking the dirt near their feet. As they sought cover, Evan had spotted figures lurking in the growing shadows of the encroaching forest.

Now they were rushing from ruined structure to ruined structure, taking fire and fighting for their lives. Evan pulled out his nightvision goggles, thanking providence that he had decided to take them along. Risking a peek out, he saw more than a dozen people pursuing them.

"Oh, yeah, they're getting a bit too close for my liking," he said almost silently. He glanced quickly from side to side. They were nearly at the edge of the ruins; the wide, flat area between the crumbled buildings and the covers of the trees was bisected by a tiny rivulet, only a trickle of water running through it. It wasn't much, but in the darkness...

Evan had a plan. He signaled Coughlin and Reed to make for the little stream. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a little surprise and attached it to the wall, then went after his men. They lay prone, the dry grass making them nearly invisible in the now deep darkness.

Through his goggles, he saw their attackers drawing near their previous location. Evan closed his eyes.

"Fire in the hole," he whispered, and flipped the switch.

The explosion was deafening, completely annihilating the structure and instantly killing whoever had been chasing them. If Evan and his team hadn't been flat in the shallow gully, they would have been thrown like rag dolls by the unexpected force of the blast. As it was, they were showered with rocks and pebbles and possibly bits of people. Opening his eyes, he surveyed the immense wreckage – it looked as if someone had dropped a bomb on the place, not a small block of C-4.

Evan felt a tap on his shoulder. Coughlin mouthed something at him, but he couldn't hear past the ringing in his ears. Seeing that he wasn't getting through, he tried again with hand signals. "_What the hell happened?_" was the gist of it.

There was no time to figure it out. Evan signaled for them to fall back to the Gate. There was no way of knowing if their attackers had backup, and Evan frankly had no desire to find out.

As they made their way through the trees, there was no sign of pursuit. Evan's ears were still ringing as he pulled off his nightvision goggles to dial the Gate and punch in his IDC.

Hustling through the wormhole, they emerged into a bright Atlantis midafternoon. They must have presented quite an appearance, because Dr. Weir rushed down from the control room. Unfortunately, Evan couldn't tell what she was saying yet, though he could guess.

"Ran into some trouble off-world," he said, hoping he wasn't shouting. "I think we took out all the hostiles, and there was no sign that anyone was on our six."

"_Are you alright, Major?_" he thought she said.

"My ears are ringing. The C-4 went off far more powerfully than it should have. Didn't want to stick around and investigate it, all things considered."

"_Okay_," Weir replied. "_Get yourselves checked out in the infirmary._"

Leading his men out of the Gateroom, Evan dusted the dirt and tiny rocks out of his hair. As he did, something occurred to him. The stonework throughout the village had a strangely familiar dark cast to it, and now that he had time to stop and actually think about it... He shook his head, grinning like an idiot and laughing. What were the chances?

Coughlin, realizing something was up, cast him a questioning glance.

Evan held up a sliver of dark stone he pulled from his hair. "It was naquadah. Naquadah in the stone!" It was a bit surreal – the stuff was highly valued in the Milky Way, where it was used for everything from Jaffa staff weapons to the hulls of interstellar ships to the core of power generators. Here, some long-lost villagers used stone laced with it to build houses. Maybe they thought it gave the walls an interesting sheen.

All in all, however, it shouldn't have been so surprising a realization as it was. The dominant power in Pegasus, the Wraith, had no direct use for naquadah, but neither would they allow other civilizations develop to the point where they might discover the numerous properties of the metal that made it so valuable – such as its ability to enhance the explosive properties of C-4.

Reed smirked. "Boom," he clearly mouthed.


	28. Avoiding a Clingon

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 2.19, "Inferno."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>The Taranians were justifiably frightened and confused. Just a short time ago, they had been going about their lives, blissfully unaware of the terrible forces at work just under the surface, not even bothered by fear of the Wraith thanks to their protective shield. Then they had been abruptly uprooted, forced to flee with only the clothes on their backs and what few possessions they could carry.<p>

Some could do nothing but sit and weep. Evan and his team had to practically carry them to quarters. Others, too shell-shocked to cause any sort of trouble, simply followed willingly. A few were argumentative, or simply in denial about the havoc that had been wrought on Taranis, not by the Wraith, but by nature and their own ignorance.

Though not a geologist by trade, Evan had more than enough training and experience to comprehend and appreciate the forces at work on the planet. He tried his best to explain it to the Taranians, to get across that they could _never_ go home again because their home did not _exist_ anymore, but it was clearly going to take time. Dr. Heightmeyer and the padre were working overtime to help keep the refugees relatively calm. Finally, Evan was able to break away to grab some chow in the mess hall.

He had been eating for only a few minutes when he was approached by one of the Taranians, a tall, willowy young woman, perhaps 18 years of age. "Major Lorne?" she said with a smile.

"Yeah? Do you need something?" Evan asked, setting down his fork.

"No, it's nothing like that!" the young woman exclaimed. "I just wanted to thank you for all you've done for us. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come to save us!"

Actually, Evan knew exactly what would have happened: they'd all be dead. But that didn't exactly seem like an appropriate response. "You're welcome, ma'am." he replied instead.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry! Where are my manners? I guess this whole dreadful situation has been far more hard on me than I thought. You don't even know my name! Please forgive me, Major Lorne, won't you? I'm Alaera Hestiana. I'm a waitress at a little tavern in – oh!" She gasped again. "I guess I'm not, anymore, seeing as it's probably been covered in ash, or collapsed in a tremor, or buried by lava!" Alaera giggled.

Evan hadn't even known her five minutes, and she was already getting on his nerves. But he was a professional. "Well, you're safe now, ma'am, and that's what's important."

"I know! It's just so overwhelming! I mean, you probably do this sort of thing all the time. You're so calm and strong while everyone else is scared! How do you do it?" Alaera asked, sitting down opposite him and leaning in close.

Clearing his throat, Evan scooted his chair back unconsciously. "Well, ma'am, I have a lot of training and experience, as well as good men and women to rely on."

"Oh, you're so modest! And please, call me Alaera. 'Ma'am' is something you call my mother!" She giggled again, smiling in a manner that no doubt charmed a lot of boys her age, but to Evan, all it did was set off alarm bells.

He calmly stood and collected his tray. "I hate to leave you like this, but I really need to meet with Dr. Weir."

"Of course! You must be so busy all the time, so many responsibilities to attend to! Maybe we'll see each other later, Major Lorne," she winked.

Oh, yeah, he was afraid of that.

Less than half an hour later, he tracked down Coughlin and Reed, who were predictably playing video games in Reed's quarters.

"Gear up, guys. We're outta here," Evan said.

"What's up, sir?" Coughlin asked, setting down the controller.

"Dr. Weir wants us to check out a few possible relocation sites for the Taranian refugees," explained Evan.

Reed gave his commanding officer a piercing glance. "Major Leonard's team is the on-call right now, sir. Why are we going instead of them?"

Evan grimaced. "Do you remember that girl from Edora? The one Coughlin found in the woods after she wandered off and got stuck in a crevasse?"

"You mean Paitha, sir? The one who thought it was a sign that I was her soul-mate and that we were destined for each other?" Coughlin made quite a face.

"The one who tried to get you in bed after three days of this, despite the fact that you told her at least a dozen times that you were already married?" grinned Reed. "The one Laira finally sent out to the fields to keep her away?"

"Yeah, that's the one." The whole situation had been downright annoying. Laira, perhaps wanting to preserve long-standing good relations between Edora and the Tauri, or perhaps simply trying to prevent Paitha's heart being broken, had taken a firm hand with the girl, who had blushingly apologized to Coughlin and Major Lorne before they left. "I think I found her Pegasus doppelganger."

"One of the Taranians, sir?" Coughlin asked sympathetically as he pulled on his jacket.

"Alaera Hestiana," Evan remarked. "She has to be half my age!" Though he wasn't even forty yet, it was still a disturbing thought.

"Let's not stand around, then," Reed said blandly. "She might find you, sir."


	29. Rocks and a Hard Place

**Setting**: Following _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle" and episode 7.01, "Fallen."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

**A/N**: In "Enemy Mine," Lorne is a run-of-the-mill one-shot supporting character. He mostly serves as exposition and we don't really get the opportunity to learn much about him until he shows up again as a recon/assault team leader (and Sheppard's second in command) on Atlantis. How did he go from a _rock finder_ to the Evan Lorne we know and love? Unfortunately, we never actually learned the answer to that question during either _SG-1_ or _Atlantis_, and it's been nagging at me for a long time.

* * *

><p>Evan was going stir-crazy in the SGC infirmary. He knew full well that his injuries could have been far worse, but laying in bed all day was sheer torture to a man used to the thrill of piloting supersonic fighter jets.<p>

A training exercise accident. How stupid was that?

After being inducted into the SGC, Evan had gone into training for the F-302 fighter-interceptor, the newest and most advanced fighter humanity had ever built on this planet, capable of taking on the Goa'uld in space as well as in the air. Some really cool gizmos reverse-engineered from captured alien technology allowed for extreme maneuvers that would cause a pilot to black out were he or she flying a normal jet aircraft. Simply put, the 302 was the most amazing craft Evan had ever flown.

Unfortunately, F-302s were just as capable of equipment malfunction as those "old-school" atmosphere-bound jets. And the potential for a fatal outcome was much higher in the case of a disaster in a 302. He was lucky to come out as lightly as he did, though the throbbing in his ribs and legs objected to the term "lightly." At least it hadn't happened in space. Then he would have been well and truly screwed.

As Evan read the started on the stupid articles in the same stupid magazine for the thirteenth time, General Hammond entered the infirmary. Evan set aside the magazine, grateful for the interruption.

"Doctor Fraiser tells me that you're going to make a full recovery, but you'll be out of the 302 program, for a while, at least." Hammond had a way of getting to the point, even, or perhaps especially, when the subject matter was painful.

"Yes, sir," Evan replied, hiding his bitterness. That was the worst part of all. Despite all the technological advances that went into the F-302s, piloting these fighters was physically and mentally challenging. He wouldn't be in any shape to fly for quite some time.

Hammond smiled sympathetically. "I know it's been difficult on you the last few days cooped up in here. And you still have a ways to go before you get back in the cockpit. In the meantime, there's something else that might keep you occupied for awhile."

"What's that, sir?" Evan asked, wondering what the general thought would interest a grounded fighter jock.

"You have a background in geology, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question. Hammond already knew that Evan minored in the subject before applying to the Air Force Academy.

"Well, after I decided that I didn't want to stare at rocks for the rest of my life, I joined the Air Force and flew as high above them as I could, sir," he replied dryly. His sister had teased him endlessly about it when she had found out.

The general laughed at that. "Even so, we might actually need your expertise. SG-11 under Colonel Edwards has started conducting a geological survey for naquadah on P3X-403. It is essential that we find and extract as much of the mineral as possible so we can build ships to protect Earth from the Goa'uld and other potential threats. The physical requirements for the mission would not tax your recovery, and your time there would provide you with valuable off-world experience."

Evan did not instantly respond. While a geological survey didn't exactly sound exciting, it was definitely a chance to step through the Stargate and explore a whole new planet. He had never actually been through the Gate before, and the chance to do so, even on something as mundane as a rock finding expedition, was too much to pass up.

"I'm up for it, sir. At least, I will be after Doc Fraiser lets me out of here."

Hammond smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Thank you, son. I know it's not what you wanted, but going through the Gate is quite a ride. And I have no doubt you'll be back in the cockpit before you know it."

"I certainly hope so, sir," Evan agreed, feeling much more cheerful now than he had a few minutes before.

Maybe the naquadah they found would go into his next F-302.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men!


	30. Hope for the Future

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 4.20, "The Last Man." Or, about 25 years after, or 48,000 years before it. Take your pick.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>"I clearly remember telling you that you had to apply the ointment daily, General," Dr. Cassandra Fraiser said pointedly to her patient. "It only works correctly if you follow your doctor's orders."<p>

Evan flexed his hand, wincing as twinges of pain lanced through it. "Yeah, well, not only is the stuff goopy, it stinks, too. Have you _tried_ it, Cass?"

Cassie snorted derisively. "You sound like my daughter. Quit complaining and just use it, _General Lorne_." She never minced words, did Cassie. Just like her mother had been, so many years before.

Evan sighed, staring balefully at his hand. It was growing more and more difficult to perform everyday tasks, like buttoning his shirt or holding a pen or paintbrush. It all seemed like some great cosmic joke at his expense, and a bad one, at that. Evan had endured a great deal of pain and hardship over the past few decades, but he could always find solace in putting paint to canvas. If he were to lose that, too, after everything that had happened...

Cassandra interrupted his bleak thoughts with a conversational tone. "I heard Rodney McKay came to see you earlier."

Frowning a bit, Evan nodded. "Yeah, he did. He wants to go back to Atlantis." And just at the moment the IOA was talking about pulling everyone out of the city entirely, abandoning Pegasus permanently. It was a bitter reminder of defeat.

"Are you going to let him? Go back to Atlantis, I mean." Her tone was casual, but Evan thought he detected more than mere passing interest lurking beneath the surface.

"Do you even know what he's planning to do, Cass?" he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

She shrugged noncommittally. "I haven't spoken to him recently. And by 'recently' I mean like in _years_."

"But..." he prompted, hearing the unvoiced qualifier.

Cassie sat down on a stool, her face contemplative. "The last time we talked, he brought up one of the old SG-1 missions. It was before you even joined the SGC, but you probably read the mission report at some point."

"Which mission?"

"SG-1 was thrown back time to 1969 when a solar flare interfered with the wormhole. Dr. McKay was keen to hear all the details again. Maybe he thought he was near some sort of breakthrough," she replied.

Evan's brow furled in thought. "Isn't all the information he would need in the mission report? What could _you_ add to it, anyway? You were what, twelve years old at the time?"

"Yeah, I was. But there's something that's _not_ _in_ the mission report. SG-1 didn't come straight home from 1969. The calculations weren't precise enough, or the flare not quite the right shape or magnitude, or something."

"What're you telling me, Cassie?" Evan asked sharply.

Cassandra bit her lip. "They ended up in the future. Well beyond 1999, when they started."

This conversation was getting stranger by the moment. "Obviously, they got back home _somehow_," he remarked.

"_I_ sent them back," Cassie said.

Evan stared at her blankly.

She amended her statement. "More accurately, future-me sent them back. Sam explained everything to me, she told me what to do. It's been my own personal mission, General Lorne, as long as I've been at Stargate Command." Cassandra locked gazes with him levelly. "You have to let Rodney return to Atlantis for the same reason."

"Cassie, this isn't a few decades we're talking about, or even a few centuries. Sheppard's not going to appear on Atlantis for forty-eight _thousand_ years!" The whole concept was mind-boggling, even twenty-five years after both McKay and Zelenka attempted to explain it to him.

"If there's even a remote chance that McKay's plan will work, I think you should at least _try_, General!" she pleaded. "You owe him and Colonel Sheppard _that_ much."

"The plan is insane, Cass. We have no idea if the city will even survive for that long. The odds..." Evan closed his eyes and sighed. It was an impossible mission. But weren't impossible missions John Sheppard's bread and butter?

"Atlantis made it several million years in Pegasus before we arrived, General," Cassandra replied pragmatically. "I think it'll still be around in a paltry forty-eight thousand. And you know Rodney better than I do – have the odds ever stopped him before? He's spent the past twenty-five years or so working on this." She smiled briefly. "And you can use this as an opportunity to stick it to the IOA one more time."

Now _that_ possibility brightened his mood. "Dr. Fraiser, who gave you the idea that I'd like to 'stick it' to the IOA?" he asked with mock severity.

Maybe there was some hope in all this.


	31. The Supply Sergeant's Lemons

**Setting**: _Stargate Atlantis_ season 2.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

**A/N**: Obviously, Coughlin and Reed haven't been on Atlantis very long. Otherwise they would have known better than to borrow from Sergeant Pinvidic...

Evan rarely used his office on Atlantis – he preferred to write his reports in his quarters when he wasn't out managing some crisis in the city or off-world on an impossible mission. This room was remarkable only for the particularly fine view overlooking the city from a small balcony. Otherwise, the furnishings were standard-issue. Very few personal touches could be found in this office for the simple reason that he wasn't here very often.

Today, however, he sat behind the desk, glaring across at his two subordinates, who stood at attention with totally expressionless faces.

Almost totally, at least – Evan could see the twinkle in Coughlin's eye, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Evan held up a distinctive yellow object. "Does either one of you care to explain this?"

Coughlin replied without even a glance at it. "Looks like a lemon, sir," he stated blandly.

"Yeah, Coughlin, it looks like a lemon," Evan repeated waspishly. "Any equally brilliant ideas as to where it came from?"

Both men remained conspicuously silent.

Evan looked from one to the other. "Alright then, I'll tell you. This and a bunch of its buddies found their way to Dr. McKay's lab in a box addressed to him. The box was loaded so that when he opened it, it exploded like a confetti bomb."

Oh, yeah, he was absolutely certain he had the guys responsible. Reed's face gave away nothing, but Coughlin's eyes kept crinkling up at the corners. And where Coughlin was, Reed was right behind, watching his six.

"I'm sure you're both aware of Dr. McKay's well-known citrus allergy," Evan continued. "Let's just say he was a bit upset after he stopped panicking about dying from anaphylactic shock." It had been rather hard to miss; It took Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard almost an hour to calm the man. When McKay was out of sorts, the entire city knew about it. "The _really interesting_ thing is that turns out these 'lemons' are all plastic."

Coughlin and Reed continued to stare at the wall behind Evan.

"What, nothing? Okay, then." Evan stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of them. "I'm sure you two thought it was all very funny. But, as any prankster knows, he must be willing to accept what's coming to him in return. I know you two did it. I'm not even going to ask how you got a box full of plastic lemons to the Pegasus Galaxy because I already know."

The answer had been stranger than he'd thought it would be, but oddly plausible, considering Sergeant Pinvidic.

"Given the lack of direct evidence in the case, Colonel Sheppard agreed that there should be no formal action taken against you two geniuses." Evan gave them a moment of relief before dropping the hammer. "However, I hear that Sergeant Pinvidic is looking for some sparring partners in the gym _right now_. You two could use the practice."

Reed's expression didn't flicker a bit, but Coughlin looked faintly ill.

"Also, I expect any more of these things that may be laying around somewhere to miraculously find their way back to Pinvidic's office," Evan said, holding up the plastic lemon again. "He wants to get back to his target practice as soon as he's done warming up with you guys. Dismissed."

Coughlin and Reed left the room far more subdued than when they entered. Evan hated this part of his job, but those two really needed a leash sometimes. They had been on downtime in the city for too long and were going stir-crazy. Evan made a mental note to make the request for an off-world mission, something to keep them busy. In the meantime, the supply sergeant would remind them why no one borrowed his stuff without asking.

Chuckling quietly, he admitted that the prank really had been downright hilarious – plastic lemons bouncing all over the lab, with McKay running around like a headless chicken and screaming about allergies and death. Evan congratulated himself for holding it together in front of Coughlin and Reed. After all, bursting into laughter would have rather undermined his position of superiority in front of them.


	32. Goodwill Mission

**Setting**: Some time after _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 2.03, "Runner," several months prior to episode 2.17, "Coup D'etat."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>M1K-177 was like many human communities in Pegasus and Milky Way, like a snapshot out of the history of good old Planet Earth. Thanks to periodic culling by the Wraith, their technology remained primitive and stunted. Any advancements they made came thanks to trade through the Gate with more fortunate societies.<p>

That was the key difference between Milky Way and Pegasus, Evan considered. Back in their home galaxy, Gate travel had, for thousands of years, been the province of the Goa'uld overlords and their Jaffa armies, not their human slaves. Isolation was the norm, not the exception. Here in Pegasus, it was the other way around, fortunately for the Atlantis Expedition. Having been heavily dependant on off-world trade during their first year in operation, the Expedition had endeavored to cultivate good relations with many peoples, offering valuable, and, in many cases revolutionary, knowledge and expertise. In some instances, the Atlantis team received nothing in return but friendship, but that in and of itself was essential to their continued existence.

Which brought them to M1K-177. The people here had been hesitant to accept their presence at all, initially; in fact, they seemed downright frightened. Evan and his team had done his best to calm their fears, and it appeared to be working, at least somewhat. The villagers had agreed to allow them to return, but only after Evan assured them, in his best diplomatic voice, that they only wanted to help and were not, in fact, here to take the fruits of their scant harvest, which qualified as barely above subsistence level.

"Well, to be honest, there's not a lot they can offer us, Dr. Weir," he explained back on Atlantis. "They barely have enough food to feed themselves and trade the remainder to a few off-world partners, let alone have anything left over to trade with us, especially at the levels we're wanting. And frankly, they're scared to death of us."

"I see," Weir replied. "What are your recommendations for future contact?"

"I think we should help them if we can. It won't cost us much to teach them better farming and fishing techniques, after all, and it'll definitely engender goodwill here. You ask me, Lindsay would be perfect for the job."

Evan liked the confident, intelligent anthropologist. She knew her stuff and appreciated that their time was just as valuable as hers. Plus, she was Air Force, too. This saved a lot of time when dangerous crises arose - he could order her to get out of danger, and she'd actually obey with remarkable alacrity. If things went south, he would have one fewer thing to worry about.

And when she was not concentrating on impressing you during the job interview, she didn't rub her frankly impressive qualifications in your face. (She might not be on par with Daniel Jackson, but really, who was?)

"Okay, anything else, Major?" Weir asked, jotting a note down on her tablet.

"Yeah," he frowned. "I'd like a team to escort her and anyone else who goes there. As much as I'd like to think that these folks won't prove hostile, you and I both know that scared people sometimes do stupid things. And so far, we've given them no reason to trust us, so caution is the word of the day."

Dr. Weir folded her hands in front of her. "Is there anyone on their end who we might be able to use as a liaison?"

"Well, the barkeep seemed relatively friendly. Even offered us drinks," Evan replied. "We got most of our intel from him."

"Okay, let me know how things go, Major. We need all the friends we can get," Dr. Weir advised him.

"Yes, ma'am," Evan agreed fervently as he stood to leave.

Trustworthy allies were a rare and valuable commodity, particularly for relative strangers like the Atlantis Expedition. Sheer dumb luck had introduced them to the Athosians on Day 1. Though many trading partners, intelligence assets, and allies had been found by the efforts of first contact teams like his and Colonel Sheppard's, these relationships only held together by hard, long-term labor provided by folks like Lindsay. Sometimes, it meant clearing stumps from fields, finding a lost child, or teaching crop rotation.

On the other hand, sometimes it just meant carrying spare chocolate bars.


	33. Rising Dawn

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis_ episodes 4.04, "Doppelganger," and 4.05, "Travelers."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>What was with the botanists on Atlantis, anyway?<p>

Granted, at least Kiang didn't sap Evan's will to live the way that Parrish did, but she currently engendered in him a brand of frustration all her own. He could tell that she wasn't feeling well - it would have been obvious even to Rodney McKay, had he been there (thank goodness for small favors).

"Doc, you sure you're alright? You look kinda green around the gills," Evan said. Kiang's face was pale against the frame of her dark brown hair as she leaned down to examine her latest specimen, a vine which looked like a surprisingly pretty cross between a morning glory and a daffodil, featuring trailing leaves and brilliant yellow flowers.

Kiang glared up at him. "I'm _fine_, Major," she snapped irritably. "Why don't you go and guard the puddlejumper instead of bothering me?"

"Because I'm _supposed _to be guarding _you_. And that's hard to do from the puddlejumper half a mile away, Doc," remarked Evan patiently.

"There isn't anything around here that's going to attack me, Major," she griped. "I promise I won't get lost. You stomped over enough flora to leave a path that a blind Wraith would find hard to miss."

Evan crossed his arms, not backing down, but keeping his cool. "Colonel Sheppard told me to keep an eye on you, and that's what I'm doing. And I'd say it's pretty obvious that you're not feeling well."

To his surprise, a deep flush came across her face. It almost made her look human again - almost. "It's nothing! I'll be fine," Kiang protested.

"Really? A moment ago, you _were _fine," Evan countered, raising his eyebrows. "Look, Doc, the mainland and these plants aren't going anywhere. You can come back another day. It's only a few minutes by puddlejumper, after all. Let's go back to Atlantis and get you checked out."

"But these flowers here will only bloom for another few hours! We can't leave now!" moaned Kiang. "I've already set everything up! You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"Oh, that's funny, Doc. You've been seriously uncomfortable almost since we landed. You're paler than McKay, and I know what someone looks like when they're trying to hide pain, so don't tell me it's 'nothing,' Dr. Kiang," Evan said flatly.

Her cheeks flared crimson again. "I'm not sick, Major Lorne," she mumbled awkwardly. "I'm really not." The Hawaiian botanist grimaced, her embarrassment obvious.

"Riiight." Evan sighed, then reached into one of the pockets of his tac vest. He pulled out a small bottle and tossed it to Kiang, who caught it instinctively.

She did a double-take when she realized what the bottle contained. "Wait, why do you even _have _this, Major?" the botanist asked in surprise as she popped the cap.

Evan shrugged. "Works really well on headaches. Acetaminophen, caffeine, pyrilamine maleate. I went on a road trip once with my mom and sister and these were the only meds that made it into the car for some reason." He handed her the canteen of water so she could swallow the pills. "I made them _swear _not to tell anyone I took it."

Kiang swallowed the pills down, looking at him as if he had just revealed himself to be a Wraith queen wearing an exceptionally clever mask. "Thank you, Major," she acknowledged, far more embarrassed by the exchange than Evan. She handed the pill bottle back to him and he replaced it in his vest pocket.

"So, Doc," Evan began, finding a convenient rock to sit on. "What do you call that flower you're looking at?"

"What? Oh. It's a _diluculus_." She gently touched one of the long, narrow trailing leaves. To Evan's surprise, the leaf immediately furled up in response. "It demonstrates some remarkable seismonastic movement similar to _mimosa pudica_ on Earth."

"Hey, I think I saw one of those in high school bio class," grinned Evan. "That had to be the most entertaining demonstration the teacher gave all year. We couldn't stop poking the thing. She also brought in a venus flytrap and a catclaw brier."

The botanist nodded, her color starting to return a bit. "_Dionaea muscipula _and _mimosa nuttallii_."

"Never could remember the scientific names. What did you call this thing? _Diliculus_?"

"_Diluculus_," she corrected, but she didn't seem annoyed anymore.

"Sounds _ridiculous_," joked Evan. It was an absurd wordplay, bordering on awful, but Kiang appreciated it anyway.

"I know!" smiled the botanist, now in far better humor. "But in Ancient its full name means 'rising dawn,'" she explained.

"'Rising dawn,' huh?" Evan mused a little space. "Certainly a lot nicer than '_diluculus_.'" He rested his arms on his P-90 as she actually laughed a bit.

"Thank you, Major," she said after a moment. "I appreciate it, I really do."

"You're welcome, Doc. Hey, don't tell anyone about it, okay? I've got a reputation to maintain here, you know."


	34. Before I Go

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis_ episodes 2.01, "The Siege, Part III," and 2.02, "The Intruder."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" Evan said, standing in the doorway of Dr. Weir's office. She'd changed since the last time he'd seen her, and it wasn't just her hair. Her eyes had taken on the haunted expression he'd seen in every commanding officer in the SGC - sometimes he spotted it in himself when he looked in the mirror.<p>

"Yes, come in, Major Lorne." She looked up from her computer with a smile that drove away the shadows, for a little while at least. "It's good to see you again; I'm glad you came with the relief force."

He sat down in the chair opposite her. The Wraith had been defeated, the last infiltrators eliminated, and damage control was well underway as the evacuated personnel began to return through the Stargate from whatever Alpha Site they'd hastily constructed. "Well, I'm just relieved to find you in one piece, ma'am," he replied honestly. "Everyone at the SGC was really thrilled to hear from you guys."

"Colonel Everett said much the same thing." Dr. Weir sighed. Pegasus had definitely not been kind to officers. "I take it you spoke with him before he was shipped back to Earth?"

Evan nodded. "Yes, ma'am. He said that Major Sheppard would be in command until the SGC appoints a new CO here."

No doubt Colonel Caldwell was bucking for the job, but Evan figured the man would be happier where he was, on _Daedalus_, whether he realized it or not. _Sheppard _would have been the logical choice in Evan's mind, were he not a 'mere' major. From the mission reports he'd read, supported by conversations with the men and women stationed here, Evan had gathered that, major or not, Sheppard had served as an able and effective military leader for a year, cut off from all backup and support.

"That's correct, Major. And as soon as we put things in order here, the senior staff, including myself and Colonel Caldwell, will also be returning to Earth to discuss expansions to the Expedition personnel," Dr. Weir said, a smile dancing across her face. The prospect of additions to the roster here obviously excited her. There was still much to learn, and their manpower was stretched thin.

"Who will be in charge here while everyone is on Earth, Doctor?" Evan asked the obvious question. Even if the Daedalus left immediately, the soonest they could get back would be six weeks, without the ZPM supercharging the engines. That would be a long time for the base to be without its leadership.

But Dr. Weir had obviously anticipated the question. "Teyla Emmagan will be in overall command. If you haven't met her yet, I suggest you make the time, because _you_will be in charge of the military personnel, Major." Her eyes danced with amusement.

"Thank you, ma'am! But shouldn't Major Sheppard be the guy in charge?" It was exceedingly strange that Evan would get the assignment over Sheppard. Though Evan had joined the SGC more than a year before Sheppard, Sheppard was obviously more familiar with the situation in Pegasus.

"As the leader of the military forces on Atlantis, Major Sheppard is returning to Earth with the rest of the senior staff," Dr. Weir replied smoothly.

Oh, _very _interesting. "I see. I'll report to him before you leave," Evan said. There was definitely something going on here. Sheppard did _not _need to return to Earth with Dr. Weir, since the upper echelons would want to assign a higher-ranking officer to take command, anyway. That meant she had a very specific reason to bring him back with her. Since there was every indication that they shared an extremely amicable and productive relationship, Evan figured that Dr. Weir would maneuver (or bully!) the general into leaving Sheppard in command here on Atlantis. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that discussion!

"Thank you, Major. Before you go, I want to reiterate how pleased I am that you came to Atlantis. I remember you from my brief time as head of the SGC, and I wish I got to know you better. I was disappointed when General O'Neill wouldn't spare you to go to the Antarctic Outpost with the rest of us."

Evan grinned cheerfully. "To be honest, ma'am, I was perfectly happy where I was. You had enough people with ATA to do without me. And I think General O'Neill didn't want to be the only guy at the SGC with the gene."

"Now that is _definitely _true," Dr. Weir agreed wholeheartedly. "And I appreciate how conflicted you were when you were bumped from the Expedition at the last minute when we found Major Sheppard."

"Yeah, he certainly threw a wrench into the works, ma'am." Colonel Sumner had _not _been happy to lose Evan in exchange for Sheppard, but the general would only let them have one or the other, and Dr. Weir was determined to have Sheppard. Evan had been disappointed to miss the opportunity to explore a whole new galaxy, though the prospect of possibly never seeing his family again had been more than a little daunting. "But I look forward to serving with him."

"He's a good man, Major. We're lucky to have him." She leaned back in her chair, smiling slightly. By this point, Evan was almost completely sure that she was gunning to keep Major Sheppard in his current position, no matter what plans Colonel Caldwell or General Landry had. "Well, that's all for now, Major Lorne."

"Yes, ma'am." Evan stood and turned towards the door.

"Oh, one more thing, Major."

"Ma'am?"

"Welcome to Atlantis."


	35. Poker Night

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis_episode 3.08, "McKay and Mrs. Miller" and 3.09, "Phantoms."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe it!" Major Leonard threw down his cards in disgust as the chaplain gathered his winnings. "Are we <em>sure <em>he's not cheating?"

The chaplain laughed, his eyes bright and cheerful. "Careful, Lenny, you're turning green - not exactly a very becoming color!"

"Hey, you beat me, too, padre!" Evan said, shaking his head ruefully. "Again!"

"Come on, _ladies_, I'd never cheat a fellow officer - much!" the chaplain winked broadly as he sorted his chips. "Of course, it helps to be from Vegas, too."

Major Jordan groaned. "Aw, now he tells us!"

"_I'm_ from Vegas, too," Elliot Rutherford reminded them. "Hell, I _worked _in a casino before joining up. And I'm telling you, he's got help from above!"

The chaplain laughed at Rutherford's snarky remark. "Let's put the blame in its proper place, boys – you're just not as good as you think you are! God moves in mysterious ways, as the old psalm goes, but He's got better things to do than help me win at Texas hold 'em!"

"Yeah," Evan replied with a straight face, "He's busy laughing at _us _from a ring-side seat!"

"What's taking Edison so long with those beers?" Leonard complained. "I don't know about anyone else, but I'm thirsty!"

"Maybe a Wraith ambushed him in the corridor. You know how much they love a cold one," Jordan suggested facetiously.

Rutherford snorted at that idea. "Nah, more likely Cadman jumped him and stole them for the girls' game."

"It's amazing how many different poker games are going on. There's our game, of course; the girls' game; plus the enlisted men, the math geeks, and a few floaters out there. We should hold a tournament!" the chaplain laughed.

"Not a bad idea, padre," Evan agreed. "Just so long as you're on the sidelines this time! Otherwise, we all know how it would end."

Just then, Lieutenant Edison came in the door, bearing the promised beers in both hands and Lieutenant Kagan in tow. "Sorry I'm late, sirs!" Edison apologized cheerfully. "But Kagan here wanted to tag along! Any objections?"

"Major Lorne, you're senior here. What do you say?" Leonard asked.

"I don't know, boys!" Evan glanced around the table, a grin on his face. "There might not be enough room at the table! Did Lieutenant Kagan bring an _ante_?"

All eyes turned to the young Marine, who held up a huge bag of tortilla strips and a large bottle of salsa. "How's this, sir?" he inquired cheekily.

"I'd say that's worth a few chips, boys! Let's make a little room for our newest player!" Evan declared, to the whistles and cheers of his comrades.

"The padre's going to eat him alive!" Jordan surreptitiously muttered to Evan.

"Every junior officer needs valuable training experience," Evan replied with a smile. "He'll thank us for this later!"


	36. Close Encounters

**Setting**: Following _Stargate SG-1_episode 6.05, "Nightwalkers."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan sat down at the counter, eager for a breakfast that didn't consist of stuff that could only nominally be called food. Not for the first time, he missed his mom's Sunday morning pancakes, made from scratch. This diner came fairly close, however.<p>

"What can I get for you today, Evan?" asked Rachel. The middle-aged, but still fairly attractive, woman was right at home behind the counter. She had three kids, the oldest nearing college age, and her husband was an overworked, underpaid accountant.

"How about an omelet with a side of hash browns and sausage?" He favored her with a winning smile, which she returned with equal grace.

"Coming right up, flyboy!" she laughed, disappearing into the kitchen.

It was too early for the big breakfast rush; there were only two other patrons, both regulars Evan knew by sight: a slender young woman and a pudgy retiree. Then he spotted a third man, a stranger, in the corner booth, sitting stiffly and eating mechanically, as if half-asleep. There was something off about him, too, something that just didn't seem right.

Then he realized that the man's footwear didn't match his suit. He wore black trousers, jacket, and tie with a white button-down for an overall effect that would have screamed "Fed" if everything hadn't been rumpled as if he had just rolled out of bed. But on his feet were heavy work boots, covered in dust. It was like putting on a Hawaiian shirt to receive the Distinguished Service Medal.

Evan frowned, watching the man warily. Then the stranger looked up, locking gazes with him. As hair on the back of his neck stood up on end, he realized something was definitely _wrong _here.

Work Boots stood, not taking his eyes off Evan, who wondered what was happening. Who was this guy? Just then, the door to the diner swung open, the bell jangling noisily.

"Stop right there," a voice ordered. Work Boots froze and turned towards its source: three men in more identical black suits (but matching footwear) stood in the doorway, guns drawn and at the ready. "You're coming with us," commanded their leader, a man seemingly drawn from some government-issue mold.

Evan saw Work Boots tense a moment before he sprang. The Men in Black weren't so lucky; with superhuman speed and strength, he was among them before they could react. He sent the leader flying across the diner to crumple against the wall as the two stunned regulars ran for cover. The other two Men in Black were pummeled with bone-crushing savagery.

He had to act - Work Boots was distracted, turned away from him. Evan took the opportunity to catch him in a sleeper hold. Work Boots struggled, but it was over in seconds with him slumping to the floor, unconscious.

The entire confrontation occurred in less than a minute.

"What's going on here?" Rachel demanded, coming out of the kitchen. "I'm calling the cops! Oh, my God!" She saw the pile of men on the floor, Evan kneeling over them. "What happened, Evan?"

"Well," he said, standing up, "This guy here just beat the crap out of the other three, who I think are here to arrest him."

"_Don't_... call the cops. My... people... will hand this. And stay... away... from him," groaned the leader of the Men in Black, who was slowly standing up. "He's dangerous."

"And unconscious," Evan pointed out.

"Who're you?" the other man asked, wincing in pain but recovering quickly.

"Captain Evan Lorne, United States Air Force. Who are you?" demanded Evan. Fair is fair.

"Agent Malcolm Barrett, NID. And I _told _Hammond that they didn't need to send anyone down here." Barrett looked annoyed as he cuffed Work Boots securely and began to check over his unconscious comrades.

"Wait, what? I don't know who Hammond is, or what the NID is. I just came here for breakfast. And, with all due respect, Agent Barrett, you'd have been _toast_ if I hadn't been here." Evan wondered, for the second time, what he had stepped into. This was getting more like _Men in Black_ by the second.

Barrett did a sudden double-take, palpable embarrassment flooding his freckled face. "You're from Nellis, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm from Nellis. Where'd you think I be from?" asked Evan waspishly, though he was, quite frankly, curious.

"Never mind," Barrett replied all too quickly. "Thank you for your help, Captain Lorne." Barrett looked up at Rachel and the two patrons, who stared back at him. "Nothing to see here, folks. I suggest you finish your breakfast and let us do our jobs."

By now, the two other Men in Black were regaining consciousness. Barrett pulled a cell phone from his jacket. "We got him. Send another unit to my location to assist with extraction. Have some medics standing by, too," he said quietly.

Within ten minutes, everything was cleared up, and there was no sign that anything strange or unusual had happened in the diner. Evan wouldn't be surprised if there would be denials all around, too.

It had that Roswell feel to it.


	37. Bumped from the Lineup

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 1.01, "Rising."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: This is in response to a request from Ani-maniac494 – while it's not _quite_ the first meeting between Lorne and Sheppard, it _is_ relevant to their relationship. Hopefully, I will write their _actual_ meeting sometime in the future.

* * *

><p>When Evan entered General O'Neill's office, he knew whatever reason he was summoned couldn't be good. Not only was the general present, but also Colonel Sumner, who glowered thunderously. For Sumner, that was definitely saying something. Whatever rankled the Marine, it was undoubtedly serious.<p>

"Have a seat, Major Lorne," O'Neill invited. He looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. Not a good sign at all.

Sumner continued to glare, making no move to sit, himself. The colonel, selected from a rather small pool of potential candidates to command the military forces of the Atlantis Expedition, had distinguished himself at the SGC as a strong, capable leader and exceptional Marine. If he had one fault, Evan thought, it would be that he relied a bit too heavily on first impressions. Evan never had a personal problem with the man - Sumner actually _liked _him. But Sumner simply couldn't stand Coughlin and considered him a menace to good order and discipline in his team and on the base.

Case in point: Coughlin had once rigged a box to dump a truly astounding amount of packing peanuts on that guy from the IOA. Fortunately or unfortunately, _Dr. Jackson_ tripped the wire instead. It was like the famous scene from _Star Trek_, when Captain Kirk got inundated in the little fluffy tribbles. However, then the air conditioning came on, blowing packing peanuts everywhere, creating a foam snowstorm in both the room and the outside corridor. Sergeant Siler, his vision obscured by flying packing material, earned himself a mild concussion when he collided with Dr. Jackson, who had managed to extricate himself from the pile. Siler lost his footing and hit the wall fairly hard, earning himself yet another trip to the infirmary. For whatever reason, this was the only side of Coughlin that Sumner ever saw, and never the devoted husband or the skilled airman.

But back to the situation at hand. Evan took a chair and waited expectantly to learn the reason for General O'Neill's summons.

The general didn't waste time, true to form. "I'm afraid you've been bumped from the Atlantis Expedition roster, Major," he said baldly.

"May I ask why, sir?" Evan asked immediately, shock overriding his other thoughts.

Colonel Sumner answered this time, anger heavy in his voice. "Dr. Weir found someone else with the Ancient gene. A 'natural' she says, lit the chair up like a Christmas tree, apparently. Major John Sheppard, a chopper pilot currently stationed out of McMurdo."

Evan's eyebrows shot up. "That so, sir?"

"Do you know Sheppard?" asked General O'Neill, catching Evan's expression.

"Not personally, sir," Evan replied, shaking his head. "We were in the same graduating class at the Academy. He had a... reputation, sir." A 'reputation' for a lack of military discipline, which would explain Sumner's mood. Evan, while an easy-going guy, had always managed to get on the good side of every instructor (and commanding officer) through a great deal of hard work and patience. Sheppard was the type who'd spend the entire night flirting with girls at the local hangout, yet somehow ace the test the next day.

"And that's exactly the reason he _shouldn't _be going on this mission, General," Colonel Sumner grated.

"It's a dead duck, Sumner," O'Neill replied warningly. In other words, _Stop arguing with me about this, my mind's made up. _The colonel did not seem appeased, but the general turned his focus back on Evan. "Look, Major, I know this meant a lot to you. Once-in-a-lifetime trip to another _galaxy _and all. But we do need you here at the SGC. This little jaunt has really gutted the staff."

Evan clenched his jaw. It was the F-302 training accident, all over again. An amazing opportunity, snatched from his hands just as he got a brief taste. He hadn't been too thrilled about the possibility of it being a one-way trip, but it was friggin' _Atlantis_! "I understand, sir. Will that be all?"

"Actually, no. Sumner, you're dismissed," O'Neill said.

The Marine unfolded his arms long enough to salute the general stiffly. "Yes, sir." With one final glare, he disappeared out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

"Major, this decision is _not _a reflection on _you_," General O'Neill advised him. Evan thought he spotted a surprising amount of sympathy in the general's voice and expression. "You're an exemplary officer and team leader with a very impressive record. And let me tell you that Colonel Sumner is _not _happy to lose you." Evan sensed there was an "especially since" in regards to Sheppard that O'Neill left unsaid. "It was not an easy decision, for either myself or Dr. Weir."

"Yes, sir." The initial surprise and disappointment had faded a bit, leaving a hollow void at the pit of his stomach.

"SG-23 is back on the duty roster as of today, Major," O'Neill said briskly, returning to 'business as usual' mode. "Don't think that this will get you out of the hard stuff! We have more than enough trouble to keep you busy here in the Milky Way."

Evan actually cracked a smile - a very small one, but still. "Yes, sir."

"_Now_ you can go, Lorne." The general winced briefly. "Oh, and make sure that Coughlin hasn't switched Walter's stationary or something on your way out. I do _not _want a repeat of last week!"


	38. The Major & the Amnesiac

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.01, "Fallen."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ frachise.

* * *

><p>Evan emerged from the event horizon of the wormhole, his eyes adjusting from the brightness of mid-day on P3X-403 to the artificial lighting of the Gateroom on Earth. He quickly shook off the chill of Gate travel and stepped down the ramp.<p>

"Welcome back, Major Lorne," Sgt. Harriman said over the com.

"Thank you, Sergeant," Evan replied. He held up his burden with a smile. "I have the geological reports and supply requisition forms from SG-11 on P3X-403 for General Hammond."

"Understood, sir; Bring them right up," the efficient sergeant state crisply.

As Evan strolled out of the Gateroom, he appreciated Colonel Edwards for sending him on this little errand. He could stop in the mess hall and grab some actual food, for one. Granted, the chow on 403 wasn't _bad_, so far as it went, but the selection was sadly limited. At least they weren't getting MREs.

"So, Walter, anything new happen since our last check-in?" Evan asked conversationally as he handed over the paperwork. This was another benefit of errand-duty: he got to know all the news first.

"Jonas thought he found the Lost City of the Ancients," Harriman replied seriously. Was he ever _not_ serious? He was probably organizing his toy blocks by color while still in the playpen.

"I assume you sent someone to check it out," remarked Evan. Finding the Lost City had become something of a Holy Grail to certain members of the SGC. Evan himself admitted it would be really cool if they did manage to find it.

Harriman, occupied with the reports, didn't look up. "Yes, sir. While it doesn't seem to be the Lost City, they did find Dr. Jackson instead."

"Wait, what?" Evan stared at the sergeant, nonplussed.

"That's what I said, sir. Colonel Reynolds's team found Dr. Jackson on the planet, returned to human form but suffering from amnesia. Apparently, he doesn't remember anything," explained Walter, flipping to the next page.

"Anything? You mean, like he's missing his entire _life_?"

"That's how I understand it, sir."

"Wow." Evan had read the file on Daniel Jackson's death and subsequent "ascension." He didn't really buy the idea that the Ancients had a more profound or superior existence because they were made of energy rather than solid matter, but apparently it had given Dr. Jackson a rather unbelievable opportunity to cheat death, as it were. Now, it seems, something had gone wrong; why would he come back if everything were peachy? "He still here on base?"

"Yes, sir," Harriman affirmed, still engrossed with the paperwork. "They put him in temporary guest quarters. Fortunately, many of his personal effects were still in storage."

It was rather remarkable that they'd keep so much stuff for so long. After all, neither a dead man nor an energy being has need of photos or clay pots or whatever else the archaeologist possessed. No, that clearly had to be the work of his friends not wanting to give up hope that someday Dr. Jackson would return. Good thinking, as it turned out.

"Okay, thanks, Walter. I'll be in the mess hall."

"Understood, Major Lorne."

The mess hall was mostly empty. As Evan grabbed a plate of macaroni & cheese and a muffin, he noted only half a dozen people in the room. Two were a pair of civilian scientists sitting together; there was a technician by himself, poking at his meal as if it were about to leap off his plate and perform a musical number; and a dark-haired young airman wearing an SG-13 team patch, who seemed more preoccupied with a small piece of paper than his food. And then there was an SF sitting not-so-surreptitiously near another man, who seemed lost in thought.

Thanks to Sgt. Harriman, Evan was almost certain he knew who this last man was. "Dr. Jackson?" he said with a friendly smile.

"So they tell me," the man replied dryly. "Look, if you're looking for a happy reunion, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't remember a thing."

Evan shrugged, sitting down across from him. "You couldn't remember me, anyway, Dr. Jackson; I've only been with the SCG a few months. We've never met. I'm Major Evan Lorne, currently with SG-11 on a geological survey for naquadah."

"Nice to meet you, Major." Relief flooded Dr. Jackson's face as he extended his hand, which Evan shook. "I can't even begin to tell you how nice it is to finally meet someone who _doesn't_ know me," he said candidly. "It's really weird walking around here with everyone telling me how great it is to have me back when I don't even remember being here in the first place!"

"I can imagine!" chuckled Evan. "From what I can tell, you're pretty famous around here, Dr. Jackson."

"Apparently so." The amnesiac archaeologist prodded his jello absentmindedly. "You know, you don't strike me as a geologist, Major," he remarked abruptly.

"Really? What, then?"

"I dunno. You're just too outgoing for a geologist," Dr. Jackson elaborated with a small smile.

Evan suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Dr. Jackson inquired blankly.

"That's almost word for word what my sister told me once. She said that I'm too outgoing to sit around and look at rocks all day." He laughed again. "She was right; I shoulda listened to her sooner. I got all the way through college before I decided to join the Air Force and become a fighter jock."

"You're a pilot? Why are you with a geology team, then?"

Evan dismissed the sudden twinge in his knees. It was probably psychosomatic, anyway. "Training accident," he explained. "The inertial dampeners failed during a high-G maneuver, my trainer and I blacked out. By the time we woke up, we had nearly hit the ground already. We ejected, but didn't have enough altitude for the chutes to properly deploy, so we came down hard. Well, I did, at any rate. My training officer walked away with hardly a scratch."

"That sounds complicated," Dr. Jackson replied, his expression apologetically confused.

"Sorry, Dr. Jackson, that probably meant absolutely nothing to you," Evan said in embarrassment. "Suffice to say, I was hurt pretty badly, but General Hammond didn't want to waste personnel, so he assigned me to SG-11 until I've fully recovered."

"I see." He offered Evan a conciliatory smile. "Perhaps I'll see you around, then."

After a few moments, Evan shrugged. "Not for a while, anyway, Dr. Jackson. I'm only here for a scheduled check-in. Unfortunately, we haven't found any naquadah yet, but we haven't finished surveying the old mine shafts yet, either, not by a long shot."

Dr. Jackson stood, picking up his tray even though the food was less than half-eaten. "Well, Major, I'm glad to have met you."

"My pleasure, Dr. Jackson."

The archaeologist left, followed by the dutiful SF, who seemed more like a tour guide than a guard. Evan examined his own food in amusement. Hey, the mac & cheese wasn't even cold yet.


	39. Home Cooking

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 4.06, "Window of Opportunity".

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his stomach, which was currently protesting angrily.<p>

"Evan, are you alright?" his mother asked solicitously as she leaned over the back of the couch. "Do you want some chamomile tea?"

"No, Mom, but I could really use some Pepto-Bismol," he groaned as he adjusted his position to better elevate his head.

"I could have told you that all that stuff would give you indigestion," his sister teased as she came in from the yard. "How many Mountain Dews did you have, anyway?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Evan griped. "I come back for a few days, and all I get is grief. Please, just get me the pink stuff and leave me to my gastrointestinal misery."

His mother smiled affectionately. "I'll be right back, Evan."

"Did you know that exercising with a full stomach can exacerbate indigestion?" his sister offered him helpfully. "Also, food and drink with high acid or caffeine content don't help much, either. And stress, now that's an important factor, too."

"Oh, _now_ you say something," he retorted. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier, could you?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "How was I to know that you'd drink all those sodas? Or that you'd be more than a little overindulgent on Mom's homemade tomato soup?"

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand," Evan winced.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all about food cravings."

His mother finally returned, Pepto-Bismol and medicine cup in hand. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home. Even though it was still early, he knew they'd be up and around. He could still picture them in their long-established morning routine: Dad nursing an aromatic cup of tea while griping over whatever was in the newspaper, Mom affectionately ignoring his complaints while happily preparing breakfast. Today, he smelled the familiar scent of blueberry flax pancakes, and his stomach growled threateningly.

The door opened, and he all but threw himself at his mother, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Evan!" she squeaked in surprise. "We weren't expecting you until later!"

"Yeah, I caught an earlier flight. Are those your blueberry flax pancakes? Please tell me you and Dad haven't eaten them all yet!" he said as he grabbed his bags from the porch and moved them into the entryway.

"Of course we haven't eaten them all, Evan," his mother scolded him lovingly.

"Is that Evan at the door?" His father's voice drifted in from the kitchen.

His mother laughed. "Who else would it be at this time of the morning, dear?"

"Why, your mother, of course, dear," was the crisp, lighthearted reply. His dad came out to the hall with a wide smile on his face. He shook hands with his son. "It's good to see you, Evan. I'll take your bags to your room while you stuff yourself on your mom's pancakes. I know you want to; it's written right there on your face in Sharpie!"

Evan chuckled ruefully. "Thanks, Dad." He was starving, actually. He hadn't had a decent meal for over twelve hours, and those pancakes smelled delicious. He followed his mom into the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools at the counter as she poured some fresh batter onto the griddle.

"Your sister's bringing her husband around later, and I'll be making my world-famous, all-natural organic tomato soup," his mom smiled cheerfully.

"You have no idea how much I have been craving that, Mom," Evan fervently assured her. "Especially after Air Force food for who knows how long, it sounds like a little bit of heaven."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl, Evan," she laughed. "Tell me, why aren't you bringing a girlfriend home with you?"

Evan rolled his eyes. They'd had this conversation before. "You know the answer to that question, Mom, and I'd much rather each blueberry flax pancakes than go over old ground with you!"

"He's right, dear," said his dad as he entered the kitchen and sat down in front of his own plate of half-eaten pancakes. "But, Evan, we do want grandkids _someday_," he joked, cutting a piece of pancake.

"Not the support I had in mind, Dad," Evan drawled. "You two just want to spoil the hypothetical grandkids rotten, anyway."

"Darn tootin'!" his mother replied as she flipped the pancakes. "What else are grandparents for, anyway?"

Ten hours later, Evan was definitely regretting his last meal. It turned out that, while delicious, consuming so much disagreed with his digestive process. He lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his stomach, which was currently protesting angrily. While his mom went to grab a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, his sister did what sisters often do: tease their brothers relentlessly.

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand," Evan winced.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all about food cravings," his sister instantly retorted.

His mother finally returned with the Pepto-Bismol. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home.


	40. Disaster

**Setting**: _Stargate Atlantis _Season 5  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: This chapter includes some graphic description, including death. You have been warned.

* * *

><p>"Offworld activation!" Chuck called from his seat in Stargate Ops. The symbols on the Gate lit up in sequence, then the unstable vortex whooshed out in its strangely beautiful way before being sucked back in to form the event horizon.<p>

"Any IDC?" Evan asked the gate tech.

Chuck checked his laptop. "No, but we are receiving a transmission."

"Let's hear it."

"_Atlantis, this is Beckett, please respond immediately_," came the familiar cadences of the Scottish doctor over the radio.

"Doc, it's good to hear fr-" Evan began to respond, but he was almost instantly cut off.

"_No time, Major Lorne. I need medical teams, combat engineers, any rescue personnel you can spare. There was a major earthquake here, and we need help badly_," Beckett blurted out. "_Ask Dr. Keller to prep the infirmary to receive casualties, many of them._"

"Got it, Doc. We'll be over there in no time," Evan replied swiftly. He tapped his headset. "Mr. Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard to Stargate Ops immediately."

"_Thank you, Major_," Beckett said. "_I got to go. I'll have someone meet the teams at the Gate._"

"Understood, Doc. Atlantis out."

* * *

><p>The teams were mobilized almost faster than humanly possible. It was a good thing, too, because the scene that awaited them in the gathering dusk demanded everything they had and more. Evan had rarely witnessed such utter devastation - the whole town had been reduced to piles of stone and timber. A few fires had sprung up where lamps fell and shattered during the quake. Some people staggered about, dazed and confused, as if they couldn't understand what was happening or where they were. As the personnel from Atlantis rushed to help, they could hear the moans of the injured, still trapped in the rubble, and the wails of the survivors. Evan saw a dirty, blood-streaked man clutching the limp form of his wife. The man wept openly, hugging the still body to his chest.<p>

Evan had experienced earthquakes before. He was from San Fransisco, after all. But the stringent building codes back there, developed through bitter experience, generally prevented complete catastrophe. This quake probably wasn't even that high on the Richter scale, but the destruction was indescribable. If Doctor Beckett hadn't been here... He crushed that thought ruthlessly as he helped shove aside some debris blocking a door. Evan spotted Lieutenant Kagan dry heaving off to the side. Sergeant Pinvidic handed the young man a canteen, his eyes full of compassion.

Evan knew exactly how Kagan felt; his own stomach rebelled at the sight.

"The school!" someone cried out suddenly. "The children!"

"Oh, God," Evan whispered.

Everything froze for a moment, a second of horror withing horror. Then time sped up again as it seemed the entire population that still moved descended on one particular pile of rubble. Evan stared at his lifesigns detector. The readings were confused with everyone moving about, but he could clearly see several dots, precious survivors hidden somewhere in the mess of shattered beams and stone. It seemed like hours before one of the engineers signalled a discovery. The tiny body of a little boy was passed from the arms of one to another out of the wreckage, to be placed gently on the ground.

It broke his heart.

The sun vanished over the horizon, but the rescue workers kept at it, setting up generators and lights. Then a shout went up. Ronon and Teyla appeared out of the debris, each carrying a small child. Stumbling behind them were four more kids holding onto a young woman's skirt, which had clearly been torn at the hem for makeshift bandages for some of the children.

Evan later learned that she had been their teacher, and she had sheltered with four of the children under an old but miraculously sturdy table during the quake. When the building collapsed, the table protected them from the falling debris. The other two had managed to crawl to them afterwards, injured but gloriously alive.

The _Daedalus _arrived just before dawn, providing much-needed relief. Evan sat on the ground, leaning back against the base of a crumbled statue. Rarely had he experienced such a profound exhaustion. Colonel Sheppard slowly lowered himself down next to him, his own face almost gray.

Neither of them said anything.


	41. Vetting a New Recruit

**Setting**: Between _Stargate SG-1_ episodes 7.08, "Enemy Mine," and "Evolution, Part 1."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Are you sure we're talking about the same guy, sir?"<p>

General Hammond chuckled. "Yes, Major, the very same. I wanted your thoughts as to whether we should bring him into the Program or not, seeing as you served together previously. It's one thing to read personnel evaluations; it's quite another to hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

"Wow." This was an unexpected development, that much was certain. "Well, sir, he's got one of the most devious minds of any man I've met. He approaches problems laterally, rather than taking them head-on. I once observed a training exercise in which he took out ten opponents by himself, allowing the rest of his team to reach the objective without encountering a single hostile."

"How'd he manage that?" Hammond asked curiously.

"He climbed a tree, sir," Evan replied, a smile creeping across his face at the memory. "People, even in the armed forces, sometimes forget to look _up_."

"Don't I know it," quipped the general.

"Well, that's how he took out six of them," Evan continued. "The other four guys... One tripped in a cleverly concealed gopher hole and set off a grenade. His entire face was just covered in paint. Another was lured into a cave; he ended up with paint up to his knees. The third guy was led on a wild goose chase for a while before ending up with a happy face painted on his back. The last guy, well, he accidentally ran off a cliff into a lake. By the time he managed to get out again, the exercise was over."

Hammond winced. "He sounds like quite a character."

"Yes, sir," Evan agreed. "I wouldn't want to go up against him, ever. But there might be a different problem." Hammond was not a stringent, inflexible commanding officer like some Evan had endured in the past. No, he was by contrast extremely easy-going and lenient, especially given their line of work.

"What's that, Major?"

Evan winced slightly. "Coughlin's a prankster, sir. And the more his COs came down on him, the worse it got. I heard that he once disassembled an officer's humvee and reassembled it inside the guy's office. No idea how he did it so quickly by himself, but he denied all knowledge of the incident. Given that there wasn't any real evidence he was behind the prank, they were forced to be happy with making him take it apart and put it back outside."

Hammond leaned back in his chair, contemplating Evan's tale. "I read the disciplinary notes in his file. Do you think it would be a problem here at the SGC?"

"No, sir," Evan shook his head fervently. "He knows his duty inside and out. On the job, he is one of the best, and I'm not just using that as a figure of speech, sir. He just uses the same skills to relax, as well. It might be a bit annoying at times, sir, but none of his pranks have ever been dangerous or harmful."

"So, you would recommend him for duty here, Major?"

"Absolutely, sir." Evan paused a moment. "If I may ask, sir: who was it that brought his name to you?"

"That would be Major Davis at the Pentagon," Hammond replied.

Well, that explained a lot, Evan mused. Davis excelled at reading between the lines of any report. No wonder he picked out Coughlin, despite the disciplinary issues. Few people stationed at the SGC could be considered by-the-book, perfect airmen or Marines. This place could be insane, and it definitely begged for lateral thinking in the field. After all, the Goa'uld and their Jaffa slaves always far outnumbered the Tauri in the field. Evan smiled slightly. "Coughlin would be a great addition to the SGC, sir."


	42. Surprise!

**Setting**: During Stargate: SG-1 episode 7.13, "Grace."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Stargate franchise.

**A/N**: LIPs means "Local Indigenous Peoples."

* * *

><p>Evan wandered the aisles of the mini mart, in no particular hurry to finish his shopping trip as he mulled over the events of the last mission through the Stargate. One of the more unusual hazards of their duty was the gratitude of LIPs. Part of him wanted to give Coughlin a medal for his ability to resist the advances of an Edoran girl named Paitha, rescued from a crevasse. They had been on a good-will mission to Edora, but Paitha's overly-amorous behavior was downright atrocious, not to mention awkward and embarrassing.<p>

It was all in his report, of course; you don't exactly leave something like this out. But he did make sure to praise Laira, the village leader, for her cooperation in handling the situation. If he felt sorry for anyone here, it was definitely Laira. She had to deal with Paitha in the long term – Coughlin could simply leave and return to Earth, though he somehow managed to handle the affair (or lack thereof) with remarkable grace and professionalism. How would Coughlin's wife take it, though?

Distantly, he heard the door bells jingle as another customer entered the store. The next sounds, however, instantly yanked him from Edora and back to Earth faster than stepping through a wormhole.

"Yo, give me all the money, man!"

Evan set down his basket and silently crept towards the cash register. Peeking around the end display, he saw a masked thug in a parka, armed with a large handgun. The terrified clerk, an acne-ridden teenager just trying to earn a few extra bucks, was filling up a grocery sack with the money from the till.

"Come on, hurry up, man, or I'll blow your head off! I ain't kidding!" the gun-wielding creep yelled at the poor kid, thrusting his weapon into the cashier's face. But the young man obviously wasn't moving fast enough, so the thug pulled the trigger. The bullet missed the clerk's head by less than an inch, shattering a display case behind him. Evan knew he had to act now before the situation changed from armed robbery to murder.

Even as the kid ducked for meager cover behind the counter, Evan crossed the distance to the thug, taking him completely by surprise. The robber, used to the power of intimidation offered by his gun, was totally taken aback by the sudden resistance, and Evan easily disarmed him with a quick wrench. Before the criminal could make any more moves, he was on the floor, his arm yanked painfully behind him, with Evan's knee planted on his back.

"What the hell, man!" the crook complained absurdly, as if he were the victim in the situation. Evan pulled a bit harder on the arm, causing him to yelp.

"You are some kind of moron," Evan remarked conversationally to the robber as the cashier warily peeked over the counter. With his free hand, he pulled off the thief's mask.

The teenage punk, now revealed, squirmed uselessly in Evan's grip. "What are you, Five-O?" he demanded petulantly.

"You're obviously not from around here," he chatted cheerfully before glancing over his shoulder at the clerk. "You might want to call the cops." Evan gave the cashier an encouraging grin. When the thief tried to twist away again, he put more pressure on his back. "Hey, come on. You're not going anywhere before the cops get here. You know, you probably chose the single worst mini mart to rob. I personally know at least fifteen people who come here regularly."

"So what, man?" the crook grunted. "So you know people who come here!"

Evan didn't bother to hide his amusement. "There are five military installations in proximity to Colorado Springs. That's thousands of personnel. You know, armed forces types. Some of whom have seen things that would make your brain curdle like spoiled milk and leave you weeping like a baby. Those types of people. People who don't like it when punks with guns terrorize defenseless civilians."

He would look back on this moment a bit surprised at the sheer amount of venom he'd put into his voice by the end. This kid was hardly a Goa'uld System Lord, after all. But when he had that gun in his hand, he might as well have been. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the police arrived to take the now acquiescent robber into custody. The unfortunate clerk, overcome by the experience could only give Evan an almost pathetic look of relief and thanks. After giving his statement to the cops, Evan retrieved his basket and finished his shopping.


	43. In Memoriam

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ season 2  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: It has been ten years since the tragic events of September 11, 2001. On that brilliant, beautiful morning, the world was changed indelibly in many ways, both great and small. This story is dedicated to those who died that day, and to the men and women in our armed forces who have died since then to preserve our freedom and way of life. God bless you all, and God help us who remain to carry on in true American spirit.

* * *

><p>It seemed the entire city had turned out to the mess hall, but it was eerily quiet. Evan swallowed, his throat tight, as he stood in the front row beside Colonel Sheppard. On the raised area, Dr. Weir held her hands behind her back, though Evan was close enough to see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Next to her, the chaplain gazed calmly over the gathered crowd.<p>

At some unseen cue, Dr. Weir stepped forward and began to speak, her voice carrying easily in the silence. "Thank you all for coming. Today is a day we remember with heavy hearts. Five years ago, a terrorist attack on the United States claimed the lives of 2,977 innocent people in New York, Pennsylvania, and at the Pentagon. The ripples of this day can be felt today, and will continue to echo in the years to come."

She paused briefly before continuing. "The cowardly attacks, orchestrated from hiding by men of the lowest moral standard, were an assault not only on the United States of America but also the free world; on men and women who speak their mind without fear of retaliation; on people who wish to live in peace with their neighbor regardless of color or creed; on a society that refuses to be ruled by fear. This expedition is a triumph of international cooperation, demonstrating that we will not be intimidated, and that we will not allow despair to reign over us."

Dr. Weir nodded to the chaplain. Despite his lack of height, he stood tall next to her, and he seemed strangely calm in the face of it all. "My brothers and sisters, we stand here together far from home, but united in common purpose and in brotherhood. In that enduring spirit, let us share a moment of silence, to remember what was lost that day, and what has been found since," he said solemnly.

Evan bowed his head. He could still recall with perfect clarity the surrealism, the fear, and then the determination. He took to the air in his fighter that day, closing American airspace, supporting Operation Yellow Ribbon. All those planes on the ground, crowding the airports, it seemed like something out of a movie. He could hear his CO's voice, telling them that they were now on Force Protection Condition Delta, and that they were at DEFCON 3. Evan prayed to the depths of his soul that his home would never again face such a terrible day.

_As darkness fell before our eyes_

_We could not see where our path lies_

_Where our path lies_

_Tears fell like rain, and ash like snow_

_Night covered day for all below_

_The world watched in disbelief_

_As we shook in helpless grief_

_In helpless grief_

_For a moment all stood still_

_Then we stood with a rising will_

_A rising will_

_Our hope held true, honor unbent_

_On this day we would not relent_

_Through the pain and all the sorrow_

_We kept the faith for tomorrow_

_For tomorrow_

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2**: _Operation Yellow Ribbon_ was the diversion of civilian aircraft flights in response to the 9/11 attacks, in order to clear American airspace as quickly as possible following the Federal Aviation Administration's grounding of aircraft in the United States. Approximately 225 aircraft were diverted to 17 military and civilian airports across Canada. A great deal of praise is owed to the local Canadians for their generosity and hospitality to the stranded passengers.

_Force Protection Condition (FPCON) Delta _describes a situation when a terrorist attack is taking place or has just occurred, and what security measures need to be taken at military facilities. It is part of the terrorist threat system overseen by the Department of Defense.

_DEFCON_ describes the military alertness/readiness of the United States Armed Forces, DEFCON 5 being the lowest state of readiness and DEFCON 1 meaning war is imminent. The highest state DEFCON has ever reached was DEFCON 2, during the Cuban Missile Crisis.


	44. Strange Tastes

**Setting**: Sometime after _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 2.03, "Runner."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N**: In Stargate, we don't really see a whole lot of our heroes just hanging out and having a good time. It's always planet-saving this or universe-ending that. Not today! Today, Evan just gets to have a bit of fun with his team after a mission.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you talked me into this," Evan groaned as he leaned back his chair.<p>

Stevens snorted into his beer. "What, not enjoying the show, sir?" he asked wryly.

"This has to be one of the campiest, most ridiculous TV series I have ever seen, and I've seen a few," Evan replied derisively.

Reed chuckled as he read the DVD case. "'Short-lived cult favorite', my ass," he snickered. "This has 'plausible deniability' written all over it."

"It may be plausible deniability, but it's even worse than the original _Battlestar Galactica_!" Evan complained. Coughlin, his mouth full of popcorn, all but choked at the comparison. Reed slapped him on the back as Evan rolled his eyes.

"More amazing than how bad this is is the fact that the then-Colonel O'Neill didn't have an apoplectic fit and die when he first saw the character of Colonel Danning," Stevens remarked, taking his DVD case back from Reed. "You should have seen his face when he came out of that initial briefing with General Hammond! Absolutely priceless."

"'It's what I _do_,'" Reed quoted, and Coughlin, who had just managed to swallow the popcorn, burst into hysterical laughter.

"Don't forget to breathe, Coughlin," Evan advised him with a smile. "It'd look bad on my record if you died so soon after we got here!"

"They- should- make this into- a movie!" Coughlin gasped, trying to control his laughter. "They'd make a fortune on merchandising alone!"

"And the sequel will be '_Wormhole X-treme!: Atlantis Rising_,' I bet," suggested Stevens, a grin covering his face. "But who would they get to play Colonel Sheppard?"

"Tom Cruise?" offered Coughlin, finally regaining himself.

Reed derisively shoved his partner in crime. "Too short!" he objected, "Cruise is only five foot seven! Hell, his girlfriend is taller than he is! And besides, Cruise is just too weird. Remember that couch jumping thing he did on _Oprah_? Man, when I saw that, I could just cry!"

"You watch _Oprah_?" Evan said in disbelief. Reed was always full of surprises; it usually took a crow bar and serious patience to get _anything_ personal out of the guy.

"You think you know a guy!" Coughlin shook his head and took a deep swig of beer.

"Hey, don't be such a hypocrite, Coughlin; I know for a fact that you love _Dr. Phil_," Stevens laughed teasingly.

"Yes, sir, but I'm at least honest and upfront about it!" proclaimed Coughlin proudly, holding up his beer in a faux toast.

"Ah, but I bet you don't tell people about your deep, abiding love of rom-coms," Reed smirked wickedly as the other two hooted and whistled in delight at the revelation.

His face flushing a remarkable shade of crimson, Coughlin threw up his hands in helplessness. "Alright, alright, that's enough, guys!" he said, almost pleadingly.

"Oh, nooooo, this is good stuff!" Evan honestly couldn't remember the last time someone got one over on Coughlin. A little turnabout was most _definitely _fair play! This was one opportunity far too good to miss.


	45. Dark & Stormy Night

**Setting**: _Stargate Atlantis_ season 2, following episode 2.02, "The Intruder."

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

**A/N**: This is written for **ladygris** – it was a "dark and stormy night" challenge put out quite a while ago, but here goes nothing! You are absolutely my favorite author, and I look forward to everything you write.

* * *

><p>It was a dark and stormy night – Evan could swear he felt the city swaying and rocking on the turbulent ocean. Logically, he knew it was an illusory sensation. The city's inertial dampeners prevented it, but for some reason his stomach rolled around in his gut. Rain whipped against the windows, and lightning flashed as it struck the towers. Storms weren't common here; they were in a relatively temperate area of the planet, after all. And this was nowhere near as bad as the massive hurricane that forced the city's evacuation in the Expedition's first year.<p>

In any event, this was _his_ first storm on Atlantis. And as much as he hated to admit it, it was making him seasick.

He made his way to the infirmary, praying no one else would see him like this. He had never had problems like this when he was a pilot!

"Major Lorne!" Dr. Beckett smiled kindly as Evan entered. "Please take a seat; I'll be with you in a moment." The good doctor had been busy with all the new supplies, equipment, and personnel since his return from Earth. The same trip had seen Sheppard promoted to lieutenant colonel and confirmed as military commander of Atlantis, with Evan as his second in command and both in charge of their own expeditionary teams. "Alright, lad, what seems to be the problem?" the Scottish physician asked as he came over.

Evan grimaced in embarrassment. "I think I'm seasick, Doc," he replied. "I've got nausea, dizziness, all the symptoms. I know it's ridiculous, Doc."

"Aye, but your body doesn't seem to know that. Let me take a look at you, then," Dr. Beckett suggested in his calm, charming manner. In quick, professional fashion, he checked Evan's heart rate, temperature, and other vital statistics.

"So, Doc, is it serious?" Evan inquired with rather more cheek than he actually felt at the moment.

Dr. Beckett tapped away on his computer tablet, presumably noting down his findings. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, Major. Your kinetosis is probably less seasickness and more similar to the motion sickness some people suffer when watching a movie."

"Great," griped Evan in annoyance. "It's all in my head. Fantastic."

"Don't be embarrassed, Major. You're not the first person to suffer from this. Your eyes tell you that the city is swaying on the ocean like a boat, while your body can't feel the physical effects because of the inertial dampeners. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem because the ocean is very mild and there aren't any landmarks in sight. But storms can play havoc with some people when the water whips up the way it does," the doctor explained, his face kind and sympathetic.

"So, can you give me anything for it, Doc?" he all but pleaded. He was almost as busy as Beckett with the newcomers, getting everyone situated and working with Colonel Sheppard to assign new teams, living quarters, and a million other little things.

"I suggest that you lay down for a while, get a bit of rest. Spend some time with your eyes closed. I'll give you an antiemetic for the nausea. Also..." Beckett's eyes sparkled as he reached into the pocket of his white coat and pulled out a familiar round red and white candy.

Evan couldn't help but smile. One of his mom's favorite things to give him as a kid – candy with real peppermint were not only a sweet distraction for a sick child but they also suppressed nausea, too. "Thanks, Doc," he grinned, accepting the candy. Leave it to a doctor in the most advanced medical facility known to humanity to give him an old home remedy.

"My pleasure, Major. I'll be right back with that antiemetic," Beckett smiled, placing a comradely hand on Evan's shoulder.

Outside, it was a dark and stormy night, but it no longer bothered Evan.


	46. Survival

**Setting**: Following _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 2.17, "Coup D'Etat"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan leaned back in his infirmary cot, setting aside his tablet. The rest of his team lay nearby, unsurprisingly asleep, but despite his exhaustion, he simply couldn't follow suit at the moment. It wasn't the first night he'd spent in a hospital bed, not by a long shot. But for some reason he just felt antsy. Dr. Beckett wanted to keep them overnight for observation - they'd been, essentially, POWs, after all, even if it was for a short time. As he tried to find a comfortable spot, he heard the Genii patient in the first bed stir. She was a fairly attractive young woman, her blond hair brushing past her shoulders. "Who are you?" she demanded drowsily, her eyes not really focusing.<p>

"Major Lorne," he replied simply.

"You won't get anything for this," the woman murmured, blinking slowly. "It won't do you any good."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm doing this for the good of my people."

"Yeah, your buddy Ladon Radim said almost that exact thing to me not too long ago," Evan remarked, not inclined towards very much charity at the moment.

Her eyes widened perceptibly. "You've met my brother," she said, a slight catch in her voice. "Is he alright?"

Evan could see the resemblance now, particularly in her eyes. It didn't help his mood. "Oh, yeah. He's great. Nearly blew me and my team sky-high, but who's keeping score? Oh, right! It was for the good of your people!"

The woman seemed a bit surprised. "You are one of the men that Cowen held hostage," she realized. "My brother spoke of you."

"Oh, did he."

"Yes, he did," she affirmed, now slightly more alert. "He said you were a great hope for our people."

Evan grimaced in annoyance. "Your 'people' kidnapped me and my team, locked us, stole samples of our DNA, and almost vaporized us," he glared at her.

"I will not apologize for our actions," she declared angrily. "You and yours gave us little alternative."

This was going nowhere, and engaging in her would only make him angry, so he decided that ignoring her would be the best alternative. Leaning back again, he closed his eyes.

After a long silence, the Genii woman spoke again, this time more quietly. "Where is my brother now?" she asked softly.

Evan opened his eyes again and sighed. "He's been and gone. You were in surgery when we got back, but he did look in on you."

She blinked slowly. "And you allowed him to leave? Despite everything he did to you and your men?"

"It wasn't up to me," Evan replied, sublimating the anger he felt for what he and his men had been put through. "Now that he's in charge, we have an 'understanding' with the Genii. You'll probably be allowed to leave, too, once you've recovered." Just a little bit different fate from that which Ladon had been willing to leave him just yesterday.

It took her some time to digest that bit. Finally, her eerily familiar blue eyes met his. "We are only doing what we must to survive. I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to accept that, Major Lorne. "

"Yeah, maybe, but not today." He turned over and faced the other direction. It was a long time before sleep finally overcame him.


	47. Fish in the Pond

**Setting:** During _Stargate SG-1_ episode 8.20, "Moebius, Part II," and _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 1.20, "The Siege, Part II."

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>"You alright, Evan?" his sister asked solicitously. Her voice was casual, but he knew her too well to be deceived – frankly, her constant worry irked him after all these years.<p>

"I'm fine, really," he assured her. "You don't need to hover. I can handle this." He took a deep breath, sternly ordering his racing heart to calm. Truth be told, he was nervous. While this wasn't his first exhibition, there had never been so many _people_ before. He could hear them all milling about and chattering on the other side of the door.

His sister pursed her lips. "You know, you don't have to do this, Evan," she reminded him for the millionth time. He couldn't deceive her any more than she could him.

Evan sighed, closing his eyes. He could do this. He really could. So long as they didn't crowd him... "I can do it," he told her decisively. "Just get the door, will you?"

She flashed him a brilliant smile, then swung the door open. The room beyond exploded with applause as he wheeled himself inside. As the gallery patrons swarmed around him, he felt a panic attack coming on, his face paling and his stomach turning over in flip-flops. But he remembered his calming techniques and managed not to lose his dinner all over the black tie crowd.

"Thank you all for coming to the exhibition. My brother will give all of you a moment of his time in turn," his sister intervened politely, giving him some much needed space. "Please, feel free to enjoy the paintings and refreshments while you are here."

As the crowd dispersed, Evan breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't as ready as he had thought he was, it seemed. "Thanks," he muttered to his sister.

"No problem," she replied under her breath, leaning down to his ear. "You're fantastic, remember that, Evan. I'm going to go grab some champagne – I'll be right back."

"Mr. Lorne?" A pretty young woman in a striking black dress approached him. The press credentials hanging around her neck practically sparkled, as if she had polished them just for the occasion.

"Last time I checked," Evan replied facetiously.

Surprisingly, the reporter blushed. She must be new at this, Evan decided.

"I work for a local newspaper, _The Bay Breeze_. I was hoping to get a few words. If that's alright with you," she almost stuttered.

"Relax, I won't bite. Much," smiled Evan, relaxing a bit himself. "What is it you want to know?"

The young woman returned his smile, gaining confidence from his casual demeanor. Was this her first interview? "I know you probably get asked this a lot, but how did you end up in a wheelchair, and what impact did it have on your art?"

Now, this question was one Evan was definitely familiar with. It was what almost everyone asked, or, if they didn't ask, they thought it. After so long, it didn't really bother him so much anymore. "I was shot during a holdup at a convenience store when I was in college," he said. "The bullet severed my spinal cord. I was lucky – the store clerk didn't make it."

The reporter's eyes widened perceptibly. "Did they catch the criminal?" she asked a bit breathlessly.

"Nope. Guy got away. I was really angry for a long time, let me tell you. For a while there, I wished he _had_ killed me. But in the end, it was painting that saved me. My mom would take me places – random places, really – and help me set up my easel. She'd set up right next to me, and we'd sit for hours, painting together, sometimes not saying anything at all." Evan smiled in remembrance. "It doesn't take legs to hold a paintbrush."

He'd grown skilled at capturing moments in paint, swirling colors and movement. But never in a million years would Evan had thought he'd find himself a financially successful, popular artist. Yet here he was, giving an interview with a young reporter who seemed even more nervous than he was. "I don't think I got your name," he told her, eyes sparkling.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she apologized in embarrassment. "It's Joanne Coughlin."

"You new at this, Ms. Coughlin?" Evan asked in amusement.

"Does it show that much?" Joanne grinned. "My husband and I just moved here – he's stationed at Travis Air Force Base."

"Now that's coincidence. While I was in college, I was considering going into the Air Force. I had a bit of a crisis of commitment to my chosen major. And one of these days, I am definitely going to get a pilot's license," he intimated, all his earlier discomfort forgotten.

Then time changed.

Major Evan Lorne lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The _Daedalus's_ hyperspace engines thrummed, their gentle rumble almost hypnotically relaxing. They were still two days from Atlantis, even with their engines augmented by the Zero-Point Module discovered in Egypt, practically right under their noses. He'd heard a few rumors about the video found with it. Alternate realities – that was one scientific concept on which he really didn't care to dwell. He had enough to worry about with _this_ reality without bringing others into the mix.

Would Atlantis still be there when they arrived? Would Colonel Everett's advance force be enough to hold off the Wraith armada until then? Would-

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sleepy snort from Coughlin in the bunk below him. The man could sleep through a Goa'uld invasion if he wanted to. Evan smiled in amusement and finally closed his eyes.


	48. Up a Tree

**Setting**: Sometime during _Stargate SG-1_ Season 8 & _Stargate Atlantis_ Season 1  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: Alright, this one's a little bit different. I wanted to put Lorne and his team in the sort of position SG-1 found itself on a weekly basis. Would the situation play out any differently? Onwards, noble readers!

* * *

><p>"Why is it every time we have a barbecue it's always at my place?" Coughlin complained as SG-23 trudged through the forest. The gravity had to be well above Earth normal - Evan felt thirty pounds heavier here. The trees reflected it, too; they were strangely squat and thick, their heavy canopies all but blocking the sky from view.<p>

"Maybe it's got something to do with the fact that you actually have a backyard, Coughlin," Evan pointed out dryly. "It's kind of hard to have a barbecue in an apartment living room."

"Besides, Coughlin, we want another opportunity to weasel your wife's marinade recipe out of her," joked Stevens, grinning broadly.

Coughlin laughed. "Not on your life, sir!"

Reed interrupted the merriment, raising his fist abruptly. Everyone froze instantly, their light-hearted repartee forgotten. A moment later, Evan realized what had caused Reed's alarm as a Jaffa hunting horn sounded, faint but audible, then an answering horn in the opposite direction. _Crap_.

At Evan's signal, the team took off running. Their only hope was to get back to the Stargate before the Jaffa caught them - there was no way the four-man team could hope to defeat an entire army of Jaffa in a head on confrontation.

It was hard going with the increased gravity, and it soon became obvious that they were tiring too quickly, especially compared to the physically hardier Jaffa. They weren't going to make it. They needed a new strategy. As he ran, Evan glanced at the trees. _It might work..._

As he came to a sudden stop at one trunk, the other three pulled up short. Stevens and Reed seemed confused, but Coughlin got it instantly, grinning broadly. "Just give me a bit of a boost," he suggested.

Reed, now understanding the plan, cupped his hands and all but threw Coughlin upwards. Coughlin easily wrangled himself onto a thick branch before helping Stevens and Evan up. The Jaffa horns sounded again, much closer. Coughlin and Stevens leaned down and together pulled Reed up. The team spread out, hidden among the enormous branches, laying flat and silent against them, barely breathing, as the Jaffa hunting party passed beneath them.

A tiny, distant part of Evan's mind reasoned that the Jaffa had been trained for thousands of years in a form of combat that was more ritual than war. People still died, of course, but the Jaffa simply weren't used to fighting opponents who didn't play by their rules. There were a few notable exceptions, of course, but a vast majority of Jaffa warriors were inflexible and had extreme difficulty in adapting to changing circumstances. Which was why not one of the Jaffa even glanced up at the canopy that concealed Evan and his team.

It seemed like hours before the Jaffa passed by, but it really wasn't more than twenty minutes after they climbed up that the team cautiously abandoned their perches.

"_Damn_," muttered Stevens, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Evan replied in a low voice. He had only just managed to get his heart rate out of the danger zone. "Okay, let's head back to the Gate, boys."

"Right with you, sir," Coughlin assured him as Reed nodded affirmatively.

As they all but crept back towards home, they kept their eyes and ears peeled for any signs of Jaffa. It was slow going, especially given as tired as they all were, but it was far preferable to being captured or killed.

When they drew near the Gate, Coughlin, taking point, signaled them to take cover. From his hiding place behind one enormous tree trunk, Evan saw about a dozen Jaffa clustered around the Stargate and the twisted remains of the MALP. _Well, that explained how the Jaffa knew to look for them..._But twelve Jaffa were far easier to handle than two hundred, especially since Evan had no desire to hang around for their friends to come back. Evan signaled his team to get into position and wait.

"_Jaffa, kree!_" he shouted in his best 'commanding officer' voice. The Jaffa, tasked from birth to obedience, didn't hesitate. They immediately ran off towards the sound of his voice. Too bad for them, he wasn't there anymore. As soon as the Jaffa were out of sight in the trees, SG-23 made a mad dash for the Gate. It was few moment's work for Stevens to dial Earth, while Reed stood ready with his GDO. By the time the Jaffa realized they'd been tricked, Evan and his team had already vanished through the event horizon to safety.


	49. Mail Call

**Setting**: Prior to _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 5.20, "Enemy at the Gate"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: This happens. You know it does. And I'll leave it at that.

* * *

><p>Mail call on Atlantis, like at any place far from home, often featured emotional outbursts of one form or another. It was especially bad when a newcomer received his or her first letter from Earth. Most of the military forces were accustomed to long spells away from their families, but they displayed almost more enthusiasm than the scientists when they received a package or envelope from home.<p>

Such was the case when Sergeant Pinvidic delivered the latest - Evan and his team had just returned from a pleasantly uneventful recon mission when the big Marine found them in the locker room.

"I've got mail for Major Lorne and Coughlin," he said as he casually walked in.

Coughlin almost tripped over himself to get his letter. Evan couldn't help but smile at the sight; the man could be a royal pain in the neck, but he was a good man in many ways. Deployment far from home could be hard on anyone, even when you aren't a galaxy away from your wife. And Evan had never seen a man who loved his wife more than Coughlin.

He didn't miss the sparkle in Sergeant Pinvidic's eyes, either, but he knew better than to say anything as the Marine left. Instead, he turned his attention to his own delivery, which actually turned out to contain a long chatty letter from his sister along with a photo of his entire family taken in front of the Christmas tree, surrounded by brightly wrapped packages. There was also a short note from his mom:

_Dear Evan,_  
><em>I got your last letter just before Christmas. I won't go into detail about how soppy I got over it, but it was just so wonderful to hear from you. Your father, bless him, didn't mind at all that I got his shirt all wet. I hope that you will manage to get some leave one day soon and visit us - you know how much we all miss you, especially the kids. They love the stories you tell about the shenanigans that sometimes go on there (wherever you are!). Be safe!<em>  
><em>All my love,<em>  
><em>Mom<em>

Evan smiled affectionately. He _was _well overdue for leave, at that. He looked up and was about to say something when he saw the expression on Coughlin's face.

It was as if he were a cartoon character who had just gotten hit on the head with a mallet, all sort of hilariously befuddled. He met Evan's eyes and blinked slowly.

"Okay, I'll bite. What is it?" Evan asked, genuinely curious as to what possibly put Coughlin into such a state.

Coughlin wordlessly held it out for his commanding officer to see.

"Oh!"

"Yeah..." Coughlin trailed off, still a bit dazed. Suddenly, something seemed to click inside his head, and a slow grin spread across his face. "I'm a dad. I'm a dad!" he jumped up in excitement, throwing his arms around Evan in a bear hug and practically lifting him off the floor. Then, taking back the ultrasound, Coughlin ran out of the room, hooting and hollering down the corridor to share the news. Ronon, coming into the room, shot Evan a confused look.

"Hey, Lorne, what's up with him?" the Satedan asked, glancing briefly back over his shoulder in the direction Coughlin left.

"Nothing much," Evan replied with a chuckle. "But I think the universe might be ending soon."

"Huh?"

Ronon was nothing if not succinct. "He just found out his wife's pregnant," explained Evan.

"Oh," Ronon said simply. "Okay. That makes sense now."


	50. A Thief in the Night

**Setting:** _Stargate Atlantis_, Season 4  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

**A/N:**Wow! Fifty chapters! Thank you to all my readers for sticking with me (and Lorne) this long, and special thanks to all those who've reviewed my stories. Your kind words and support have truly made this effort a great pleasure.

* * *

><p>There was a very good reason that Evan never tried to sneak up on Coughlin when he was asleep: you never knew if you might run into something unexpected. A thief found this out the hard way when he lifted the pack from the floor of the room the team was sharing in the village inn.<p>

As soon as the bag left the ground, it released the cord held tightly under it, and a bucket of icy water tinted with red dye released its load right on top of the thief's head. The man, understandably surprised by the sudden frigid dousing, actually screamed like a little girl. Turning to flee the scene, he was very much surprised to run smack into the barrel of Coughlin's 9 millimeter sidearm.

"Going somewhere?" Coughlin asked sweetly, a wolfish grin on his face. Evan sat up in his bed, still wearing his disguise, and switched on the light of his P-90 to illuminate the scene as Reed appeared in the doorway to block any possible exit.

The thief, literally red handed and shivering, swallowed nervously. "You're n-n-not traders!" he stammered.

"Wow," Evan remarked facetiously. "With such brilliant observations, you should've been a Canadian physicist instead of a thief."

"Huh?" the thief replied, his expression blank. Coughlin and Reed both smirked, however. Then Zol Parnek appeared, Reed shifting to allow the pock-marked local police sergeant into the room.

"So, Sergeant Parnek, you know this guy?" Evan asked casually, gesturing to the soaked would-be burglar.

The sergeant raised his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows in surprise. "Aye, that I do. No wonder we were never able to figure out who was behind it all. This fellow is one of my own officers!" He shook his head and sighed. "Oh, lad, I had such high hopes for you," Parnek said slowly.

"Sarge, how can you believe-" the dripping man began, but the Parnek shot him a look of both anger and sadness.

"No, Tam, don't even try to lie to me. Save it for your solicitor and the magistrate; they'll be the only ones interested." He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Tam Preslin, I'm arresting you on suspicion of burglary. You do not have to say anything, and anything you do say may be held against you in view of the law. A solicitor will be appointed to advise you and will be available to offer counsel during any interview or interrogation."

Tam seemed too stunned to offer any resistance as Parnek secured his hands behind his back and marched him out the door, past the sleepy patrons only now coming out to see what the commotion was all about.

"Go back to bed, folks, show's over, nothing to see here," Evan assured them evenly as he followed after Parnek and his prisoner, leaving Coughlin and Reed to clean up the mess on the floor.

After throwing the light-fingered Tam into a cell, Parnek generously gave him a cloth to dry himself off, though the red stain stuck to the thief's hair, skin, and clothes. The sergeant shook his head in disbelief. "I still can't fathom it," he remarked as he sat down behind his desk. "Tam had everything going for him. His mother's one of the wealthiest merchants; he had everything he ever needed growing up, unlike many a lad I've met in my time. I trained him myself when he joined up. I would have brought him in on the operation if it hadn't been so restricted!" He rubbed his forehead, the disappointment palpable.

"Sometimes 'everything' isn't enough for some people," Evan observed, glancing at the miserable form huddled under the towel. "He'll have some time to think about that."

"Whatever happens now, thank you for your assistance in this matter, Major Lorne. And please pass on the gratitude of our people to Colonel Carter, as well. As much as it pains me to say, we might not have been able to solve this matter without your help." Sergeant Parnek offered his hand to Evan, who shook it firmly.

"You're welcome, Sergeant. We're glad to help. And I'll pass along your message to Colonel Carter."


	51. A Cup of Tea

**Setting**: Between _Stargate Atlantis_ episodes 2.01, "The Siege, Part 3" and 2.02, "The Intruder".

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>"You are Major Lorne?" asked the beautiful, bronze-skinned woman. She had to be Teyla Emmagan, the Pegasus Galaxy's answer to Teal'c. Though she couldn't be more than five foot four, she stood with the limber grace of a dancer and the confidence of a soldier that belied her stature.<p>

"Yep, that'd be me," Evan replied with a smile. "You're Teyla, right?"

"That is correct, Major." She bowed her head slightly in respect, though Evan could practically feel her eyes evaluating him from head to boots. Fortunately, he was used to this sort of appraisal; he was hardly a rookie, after all, and two years at the SGC didn't hurt, either. "I feel that it is important that we get to know each other before Doctor Weir and Major Sheppard return to your homeworld. I understand that you will be leading the military personnel while Major Sheppard is away."

Her tone made it very clear that she expected his return to Earth to be a temporary one. From the reports he'd read, Evan knew that Teyla had a great deal of respect for Major Sheppard, and vice versa. "And you'll be in charge of the overall Expedition," he observed. It was quite telling how much they trusted her already. "On that note, I want you to know that while I'm not the same man as Major Sheppard, I know all you've done to help us out over the past year, and I respect it. And, seeing as I'm the new guy here, I'd appreciate any advice or insights you can give me."

Teyla smiled slowly – he must have said something right. "I would be happy to do so, Major." There was a brilliant glint in her eyes, as if he had passed a test. Maybe he had. "Please, tell me something of yourself. It does not do for us to be strangers."

"Well, I was born in San Francisco. It's a coastal city, probably best known for the Golden Gate Bridge and its rather liberal culture and community," Evan chuckled, remembering a few... interesting... encounters he'd had growing up. "My mom teaches art, and my dad is a businessman. I have one sister, who's married with two kids. I joined the Air Force after college so I could become a pilot."

Evan spotted Teyla's eyes widen ever so slightly. Sheppard was a pilot, Evan knew, though he flew choppers, while Evan was a jet jock. Stevens, Evan's second, was also a chopper pilot; there were more than a few ribbings back and forth over it during their time on SG-23. Evan already missed him, Stevens having been left behind on Earth due to an infernally unfortunate injury not long before Atlantis made contact.

"I was recruited to the Stargate Program about two years ago, and I flew F-302 fighter-interceptors for a few months before I was injured in a training accident. Then I spent several months off-world at a mining operation." At Teyla's inquiring expression, he gladly elaborated. "I have a background in geology, which for once proved useful!" Evan grinned briefly before continuing. "After that, I was given command of one of the Stargate teams. I was originally going to be part of the Expedition because I have the ATA gene naturally, but then they discovered Major Sheppard-"

"-and so he came instead of you," Teyla finished his sentence with a smile. "But now you are here as well. I was born on the planet Athos, though both my mother and my father died long ago. I am a leader amongst my people, and I have traveled to many, many worlds. My people are farmers, hunters, and traders. When your people first came through the Stargate, I did not know what to think of you. In all my travels, I had never met such as you. But when Major Sheppard rescued us from the Wraith and brought us to Atlantis, I thought the Ancestors must truly have blessed us. This city is truly a place of wonders."

This was going even better than Evan could have hoped. He offered Teyla a friendly smile. "I have a few things to do at the moment, but maybe we could talk more later."

"I would like that," Teyla replied. "Perhaps over a cup of tea."


	52. Out of the Rain

**Setting**: During _Stargate SG-1_ episode "Heroes, Part I"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: There are some characters that people just hate. Let's just say that this story features one of these characters.

* * *

><p>Evan came down the ramp from the Stargate, glad the mission was finally over and done. It wasn't that he disliked standard reconnaissance missions. But he did dislike doing them in the rain. It had been a mere mist when they started, only to turn to a steady shower, which, while not heavy, still soaked them to the bone.<p>

Behind him, Reed rubbed at his dripping hair with both hands as Stevens squeezed out his cap and Coughlin shook himself like a dog.

"_SG-23, debrief will be in 1 hour_," Sergeant Harriman said over the loudspeaker. Evan waved acknowledgement as he led his team out the heavy doors towards the locker room, leaving a rather impressive trail of water and muddy bootprints behind them. As they passed the control room, Evan heard the ever efficient sergeant calling for cleanup in the Gateroom.

"The worst part is how much I _hate _wet socks," Stevens muttered in annoyance, his boots squelching noisily.

Reed grinned cheerfully, not at all put out by the soaking. "I had fun," he chuckled.

"How come you like the rain so much, Reed?" Evan asked in disbelief, glancing over his shoulder. "You're from LA! The land of sunshine and beaches!"

"I guess I just appreciate it more than you do, sir," the big man replied lightly.

Coughlin, unusually quiet and subdued, suddenly let out an enormous sneeze. He groaned miserably as Reed patted him sympathetically on his shoulder. This, of course, spattered drops of water everywhere. Evan was glad his back was to his men, as he couldn't help a smile (at Coughlin's expense, for once).

"And here is one of the front line Stargate teams, led by one of one of the finest members of the Stargate Program, Major Evan Lorne," a familiar, supercilious voice said. Evan concealed the sudden distaste rising in him as he approached Senator Kinsey, head of the Senate Appropriations Committee, together with an Air Force camera crew and a pudgy, dark-haired fellow. The four men (and the equipment) neatly blocked the hallway to the locker rooms.

"Excuse us, sir, we need to get to the locker rooms," Evan said politely, addressing Senator Kinsey with a respect he certainly didn't feel for the man.

"Major Lorne, you've just returned from an off-world mission," Kinsey proclaimed pompously, clearly showing off for the camera. "Would you please tell Mr. Bregman here what it was like for you?"

_Wet. What did he think it was like? _Evan clasped his hands behind his back, clenching them into fists. "I'm sorry, sir, but we haven't yet debriefed on the mission with General Hammond." He had no idea who this Bregman character was, and he had absolutely no intention of discussing anything while dripping in the middle of a corridor. Especially with Kinsey, except under penalty of court-martial. The man was a first-rate creep, and all Evan was interested in at the moment was a hot shower followed by a dry uniform. "Please, sir, we would like to clean up before the debrief. If you would please excuse us?"

The technical sergeant and airman with the film equipment neatly stepped aside, making room for the team in the hallway. Evan took advantage of the opening and marched right past Kinsey and Bregman, who both stood gaping helplessly in their wake. Evan heard Coughlin sneeze mightily again.

"I'm so sorry, Senator, I seem to be coming down with a cold," Coughlin apologized meekly as he hurried past.

Evan did not look back, but he would make sure to get Coughlin a box of those doughnuts he really liked.


	53. Heavy Lifting

**Setting**: Stargate Atlantis, between episode 2.07 "Insinct," and 2.08, "Conversion".  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the Stargate franchise

* * *

><p>"How do you do it?" Evan asked in wonder.<p>

The padre shook his head, grinning broadly. "It's an optical illusion. What you can't see is that Grant really doing all the heavy lifting," he joked cheerfully.

The chaplain's assistant rolled his eyes. "Don't let him fool you, sir. He pulls his own weight." Senior Airman Grant Stukowski, only an inch or two taller than Evan, still massed significantly more than the diminutive padre.

Still, given that the chaplain's offworld pack seemingly weighed almost as much as the chaplain, it was no small bit impressive that he managed to carry it around with as much ease as he did. Evan had heard he'd done a tour in Afghanistan with Stukowski before they joined the Stargate Program together, so he knew better than to underestimate the man. Now he ministered to the Atlantis Expedition, certainly an eclectic (and eccentric) flock.

"So, Major, you've been here a couple months now. How do you like the old barn?" the chaplain said as he did a final check-over of his gear.

Evan clipped his holster onto his leg as he mulled over the question. "It's certainly a different sort of posting, isn't it? I mean, it's not just the civvie-heavy presence. There're plenty of them back at the SGC. And the high-tech gizmos everywhere aren't exactly new hat, either. And the fact that it's on another planet - well, I spent several months at an off-world mining site, before I got my own team."

"Yeah, but here you aren't only a team leader, you're Colonel Sheppard's second in command," the chaplain observed. "It's a big step up, if I do say so!"

"All _I_got to look after is the little guy," Stukowski cracked, checking his 9-mil before holstering it. "All else fails, I just pick him up and run."

The mental image was worth a chuckle. "Well, it's a lot more paperwork for me, that's for sure," Evan remarked. "Five years ago, I thought I'd still be a jet jock today. It's a hell of a thing, let me tell you."

"The places you go, the people you see," the padre drawled, crossing his arms. "The Stargate certainly throws a monkeywrench in a lot of people's plans!"

"That's the truth." Evan led them out towards the Stargate, where the rest of the team waited for them. "You were with the original Expedition, padre. How do you like your flock here?"

"Oh, they're a nice enough bunch of people. You should try Sergeant Pinvidic's steak sometime! He makes this great marinade with local spices he gets from the Athosians. And if you don't know Radek Zelekna that well, you should definitely take the time. That Czech plays a mean game of chess, for one, and he's probably the most knowledgeable about the tech around here, aside from McKay himself. And Radek's a lot less annoying than McKay."

"No kidding," observed Stukowski wryly. "McKay always acts like we're idiots or something."

"Scientists! If I didn't like 'em so much, I'd probably have done someone an injury by now. Every time they discover something new, which is pretty much three or four times an hour around here, I'm reminded just exactly how much cleverer God is than we are," the chaplain smiled as he adjusted the heavy pack on his back.

"Huh. Were you talking about me?" McKay asked absently as they entered Stargate Operations. Evan exchanged a surreptitious grin with the chaplain.

"Yes. It's what we do _all the time_, Doc," Evan replied facetiously.

"Oh. Okay."


	54. I've Got Some Good News

**Setting**: Between _Stargate SG-1_ episodes 7.08, "Space Race," and 7.09, "Avenger 2.0."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>"So, Major, how's the naquadah mining operation on P3X-403 coming along?" General Hammond asked conversationally, folding his hands on his broad desk. Of course, given that the general rarely, if ever, engaged in casual small talk, there had to be something more going on, Evan figured.<p>

"Better than expected, actually, sir. Now that the Unas have been properly instructed in the use of the mining equipment, and the cultural misunderstandings sorted out, everything has pretty much fallen into place. We should have our first real naquadah shipment soon," he said. Even Colonel Edwards had fully unbent after he saw how fervently the Unas went to their work extracting the mineral.

General Hammond smiled, obviously pleased by the report. "That's good news, Major. And I have some more good news for you. First, I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that I've officially approved Coughlin's transfer to the SGC. If you would like, I'll allow you to read him in personally."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir," Evan replied. He couldn't wait to see the look on Coughlin's face as the man tried to figure out if Evan were pulling his leg or not - he was too devious for his own good at times.

"Yes, I thought you would," the general said with a bit of a smile, "Because if he decides to join up, he'll be assigned to SG-23 following his training."

Evan's ears perked at the mention of SG-23. "You're forming new teams, sir?" he asked curiously. There had been scuttlebutt circulating for weeks now, but nothing concrete. This was big news, and would interest no few members of the SGC.

"That's right. The president's approved the formation of five additional SG teams. We've found ourselves short-handed all too often. SGs-21 through 25 will be our new front-line reconnaissance and support teams."

The general was absolutely right in his assessment, as far as Evan was concerned. Even with the rapid technological leaps and bounds made over the past few years, manpower was still a big concern at the SGC, especially given the necessity for secrecy. "Sounds like the perfect fit for Coughlin, sir," he readily observed. "What about the rest of the personnel for the new teams?"

"It'll be a mixture of new recruits and transfers from other teams. Which is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you, Major. You've been recommended to lead one of these new teams, so you'll be officially transferring from SG-11 to SG-23 as soon as the paperwork goes through. If I remember correctly, this will be your first command. Congratulations, Major." General Hammond held out his hand to Evan, who, though stunned, shook it firmly.

"Thank you, sir!" Evan replied when he found his voice again. "It'll be an honor!"

"Just don't screw it up, son," Hammond said with a smile. "I think you'll do just fine."

"If I may ask, sir, who was it that recommended me?" asked Evan after a moment.

"Both Colonel Edwards and Colonel O'Neill separately brought your name to my attention, actually."

Evan blinked, utterly surprised by the news. "Really?" He knew Colonel Edwards liked him (most of his COs did), but Colonel O'Neill hadn't seemed particularly interested in him during their encounters. In fact, Evan remembered driving Dr. Jackson to distraction over some artifacts before losing his lunch in front of Teal'c. And then there was the whole mess with the Unas nearly massacring the survey team...

To put things in perspective, getting O'Neill's recommendation was akin to finding the Holy Grail in your sock drawer - just as amazing as it was unlikely.

So, as he left General Hammond's office, Evan was left to ponder exactly how he had managed to garner such approval from the senior field officer at the SGC.

He was _still _wondering when he left for the Pegasus Galaxy about a year and a half later.


	55. You'd Better Believe It!

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.09, "Avenger 2.0."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: I wrote this piece in response to a request by **ladygris**, who wanted to see how Lorne reads in Coughlin to the Stargate program. ("No, it's not April Fool's Day. Really!")

* * *

><p>"You <em>are <em>aware of his record, Major," the iron-grey colonel asked dubiously, looking over the various official forms Evan had handed him. "Coughlin's a trouble maker, to put it mildly. A few days ago the office staff found that every single one of their pens had been replaced with crayons."

"I've served with Coughlin before, and I am fully aware of his record, sir," Evan replied evenly. He expected this sort of thing from Coughlin's commanding officer and was well prepared. "This request comes from the Pentagon; I'm just the messenger here. Because of the classified nature of the assignment, I'll need a secured room for his briefing."

"So you can discuss your top-secret 'deep space radar telemetry' at Cheyenne Mountain?" The officer scoffed incredulously. "Pentagon cover stories get worse every year, Major. Well, if you want him, I'm certainly not going to stand in your way. You can use the room next door to mine for the briefing." He tapped the intercom on his phone. "Send Coughlin in now."

"_Yes, sir_," the voice at the other end replied immediately. A few moments later, the office door opened, and Coughlin entered and saluted stiffly. He appeared much as Evan remembered him - he'd even managed to earn himself another stripe on his sleeve, despite the disciplinary problems he had given his commanding officers. (_Crayons_!)

"Reporting as ordered, sir," Coughlin said formally.

"At ease, airman." The colonel shot a piercing glare at him, but Coughlin merely stared straight ahead as he snapped into position. "You should remember Major Lorne. He's here to brief you on a new assignment." Evan thought he caught a glimpse of "_please, oh please take it_" in the colonel's eyes.

"Yes, sir!" Coughlin's eyes didn't flicker from their forward-facing stare. Evan was certain that he was mocking the colonel - either that, or there was an identical twin brother with the same name and a serious obsession with military stiffness. The act continued right up until the door to the private room closed behind them and Evan locked it.

"It's good to see you again, sir," Coughlin smiled as he sat down at the table.

Privately, Evan was deeply relieved that he hadn't _actually _changed all that much. "You, too, Coughlin. How'd you manage to get that promotion, anyway?"

"My last CO had a moment of weakness, sir," joked the other man cheerfully. "So, what's this all about? Last I heard, you were at Nellis. This top secret briefing stuff sounds more up the way of Groom Lake, to me, sir."

"Actually, you're not that far off. Area 51 is mostly R&D. My outfit is more fieldwork." Evan opened his briefcase and pulled out a file. Coughlin eyed it with interest. "Before I go any further, I have to tell you three things. First, this program is strictly voluntary. Whether you join up or not is entirely up to you."

Coughlin's brows drew together. "Yes, sir."

"Second," Evan continued, "Even routine ops with this outfit are extremely dangerous. I won't lie to you. It can be brutal." He sighed, remembering Lieutenant Ritter briefly before putting him out of his mind. Coughlin obviously caught his expression, because his eyes narrowed.

"And the third thing, sir?" he asked, a little more pensively.

Evan smiled a bit. It wasn't that long ago he was in Coughlin's seat, and Major Davis was the one on the inside. "It's the wildest ride you'll ever have. I won't say that it's crazier than you'd ever imagine, because, quite frankly, I know you too well."

Coughlin grinned appreciatively at the remark. "That you do, sir. Alright, you've got me hooked," he said, with barely a moment's thought. "It can't be all bad if the landed you, sir, so it's almost certainly worth it for me. So, show me where I need to sign, and fill me in."

This was even easier than Evan had thought it would be. Coughlin must be really bored lately. "Oh, one last thing. If you do reveal anything of what I'm about to tell you, you'll disappear into a hole so deep no one will be able to find you." He pushed the file over to Coughlin's side of the table. "It's called the Stargate Program. It's based out of Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado. From there, we use an alien device known as the Stargate to travel to other planets through a stable artificial wormhole. The Stargate Program's mandate is to explore these worlds, make contact with new cultures, and acquire alien technology to defend Earth against extraterrestrial threats."

The look Coughlin gave him was utter disbelief. "That's the plot line of _Wormhole X-Treme!_, sir," he replied. "That show only lasted three episodes."

"But I hear it's doing great on DVD," Evan quipped, to Coughlin's confusion. "Thankfully for our plausible deniability."

Coughlin's jaw dropped, and his eyes lit up brilliantly as he put it all together. "Un. Be. Lievable," he said, shaking his head. "You really aren't kidding, are you, sir? Candid Camera was never your bit. Sarcasm, yeah, but you never bought into April Fool's Day." He whistled as he looked at the first page of the file. "Wormholes, aliens, interplanetary wars! How've you guys managed to keep this under your hats for so long, sir?"

"We eat right, plus a great deal of hard work and no small amount of luck, as well as the general gullibility of the masses. Right now, Stargate Command is operating twenty teams out of Cheyenne Mountain. Some of them are recon teams, the guys out in front, making first contact and doing initial exploration. A few are archaeological teams, while others are engineering teams. My last team, SG-11, was tasked with mineral survey of an abandoned mine on a planet halfway across the galaxy."

"You, sir? I thought you were a pilot," Coughlin queried, his entire body practically brimming with interest.

"I got laid up awhile back, so they decided to put my geology background to use," Evan explained. It was a little strange, actually being able to discuss everything about the Program with an outsider. "Anyway, we're adding five new teams to the SGC, and, believe it or not, Coughlin, your name came up as a possible addition."

"It's because someone has good taste, sir." Something else occurred to him, and he grinned wickedly. "Does this mean that the characters in _Wormhole X-treme!_are based on real people, too?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny it."


	56. Training Days

**Setting**: _Stargate SG-1_ season 7, between episodes 7.09, "Avenger 2.0," and 7.10, "Birthright".  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: This is written for **Ani-maniac494**, who requested a piece on how Coughlin took to SG training. Coughlin, true to form, continues his tradition of driving superior officers crazy. Cheers!

* * *

><p>"So, Harper, how'd the training exercise go?" Evan innocently asked the other major across a plate of macaroni &amp; cheese in the mess hall.<p>

Harper glared at him in annoyance. "Your man Coughlin sure is a nasty piece of work, Lorne."

"Hey, don't be a sore loser, Harper. It's not as if this batch of recruits is fresh out of the Academy or basic training, after all," he pointed out practically. "All of them have seen action."

"That may be true, but Coughlin is cocky enough to get someone killed with one of his stunts one of these days," Harper snapped, stabbing at his macaronis with his fork. "He's too full of himself for the good of his team."

"I know that Coughlin's a wise-ass, but he's also damn good at what he does," Evan retorted calmly. "And his team did complete the mission objectives completely intact, didn't they?"

"In record time," Harper admitted unwillingly.

Evan rolled his eyes at the Marine team leader's reticence. "Come on, don't be bitter, Harper. This isn't a competition."

"I'm not bitter, Lorne!"

"Oh, really? Because I seem to recall your team getting knocked on their Marine asses by him and Reed while Bosworth and Nguyen secured the 'Goa'uld crystals,'" Evan remarked dryly.

Reed, a large, taciturn, often monosyllabic guy, seemed like an odd partner for the downright puckish Coughlin, but they were shaping up to be quite the double act during their training. There was no question in Evan's mind about assigning them to the same SG team (preferably _his_); chemistry like that just didn't happen everyday.

"Fine, fine, laugh it up, Lorne. Next time, _you _get to be the bad guy. I can't wait to see you get tied up and locked in the closet." Harper said flatly, setting aside his fork.

Evan shrugged. "Yeah, and when that happens, you'll be there, I'm sure. Look, none of us likes getting shown up by the new guy. And I'll be the first to admit that Coughlin is a royal pain in the ass sometimes. But when the chips are down, he'll get the job done, and done well. You know how it is out there - always outnumbered and outgunned. We need guys like Coughlin, and you know it."

Harper looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. While he was a good Marine and valuable member of the SGC, he had only recently been promoted to team leader and felt he had something to prove. Being cut down to size by a team of recruits so green to the Stargate Program just plain hurt his pride. The fact that they were _Air Force _recruits just added insult to injury.

"Hey, Harper! How's that pain in your ass feeling?" called Colonel Dixon, grinning wickedly as he set his heavily loaded tray down at the next table.

Harper's expression could have melted naquadah.


	57. Unlooked For, But Not Unwanted

**Setting**: Immediately following _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 4.18, "The Kindred, Part I."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN**: Though there was no specific request for this, this chapter was written for **ladygris **in particular - I know how much you love both Lorne and Beckett!

* * *

><p>Evan's heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he heard the familiar Scottish cadences of Doctor Carson Beckett. He could be forgiven, though - Beckett was dead. Dead and buried, back on Earth, in the Milky Way Galaxy. Evan had carried his coffin, draped with the brilliant white saltire on an azure field.<p>

Yet, here he was.

Alive.

Swallowing, Evan labored desperately to control the violent surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. They couldn't afford to get too distracted - there might be more of Michael's men lurking in the shadows of the dingy compound.

Glancing at the others, he saw the shock written all over them from head to toe. McKay, for once, stood completely speechless, his face pale and eyes wide. Sheppard's knuckles were white against the black body of his P-90. Ronon, normally unreadable to most people, for once seemed patently baffled and unnerved.

Beckett, for his part, just appeared happy to see them, apparently not noticing their disbelief at his very existence. It was as if he'd never died at all.

Evan let out a slow, shuddering breath. It wasn't as if dead people seemingly (or actually) coming back to life were totally unheard of in the Stargate Program; he had met Dr. Jackson, after all. It had just never struck so close to him, so near his own heart.

Staggering joy warred with disbelief and the fear that this was somehow too good to be true, that the wonder of finding their lost friend would all be snatched from their grasp if they closed their eyes or looked away for even a moment.

Was this how Colonel O'Neill and the others felt when Dr. Jackson had walked back into their lives?

He couldn't believe how much it hurt.


	58. What Dreams May Come

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 4.04, "Doppleganger".  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the Stargate franchise.  
><strong>AN**: I have been putting off writing a "Doppleganger" fic for months now, but I just realized that now is the perfect time for it. The title of this chapter is from the famous _Hamlet _monologue, "To be or not to be". That guy Shakespeare sure had a way with words!  
>To all and sundry, have a Happy Halloween!<p>

* * *

><p>Pale moonlight filtered through the windows as Evan paced down the corridors of Atlantis. The city rested silently on the dark, still waters; the ocean sounded muted and distant. It was as if he were the only waking thing in the whole of creation. Stepping out onto a balcony, he gazed up at the distant stars, glittering like diamonds against the emptiness of space.<p>

"They're coming," a voice suddenly said behind him.

Evan snapped around. Sheppard smirked at him, his arms crossed in a gesture of careless superiority.

"You can't stop us, Evan. You might as well just give up," Sheppard taunted him, a cruel sneer twisting his lips, instead of his normal careless charm.

"What are you talking about?" Evan asked in confusion. In the time Evan had spent on Atlantis, the colonel had never behaved in such a way, even under stress.

Sheppard laughed callously at him; his eyes gleamed like shards of glass. "See, you're not safe even here on Atlantis. It's only a matter of time before we kill them _all_."

Ice froze in Evan's veins. He reached for his radio, but he suddenly realized he'd left it in his quarters. "You're a Replicator," he whispered in horrified realization as his hand fell limply to his side. Sheppard only grinned more widely.

"Of course I'm a Replicator," Sheppard mocked his growing terror. "And you're the only one who'll ever know, Evan."

Evan swiftly drew his sidearm, aiming it at his head, but the Replicator laughed at the gesture.

"You know those things can't hurt me, Evan," he whispered. Just then, Coughlin appeared behind Sheppard, blinking sleep from his eyes.

"Hey, guys, what's going on?" he muttered blearily. Sheppard winked at Evan before turning around and smoothly snapping Coughlin's neck.

The lifeless body collapsed to the floor with barely a rustle or sigh. Before Evan could pull the trigger, Sheppard took off down the corridor, laughing insanely. Evan desperately pursued him, trailing in the wake of that taunting laughter. Suddenly, he caught up to the Replicator in the crew quarters atrium, just sauntering down the stairs as if nothing were wrong at all.

"Hey, Lorne, what's up?" he asked casually.

Evan took aim.

"Whoah!" Sheppard threw up his hands, as if surprised by his actions. "What's going on, Major?"

"'What's going on?'" Evan repeated in disbelief. "You know exactly what's going on, 'Colonel'!"

Sheppard feigned confusion. "No, I really don't," he replied uneasily, his hazel eyes on Evan's sidearm, but Evan knew better than to trust the expression. "Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk about this?"

"Nuh-uh. Not going to happen." Some distant part of Evan's mind irrelevantly told him that his feet were cold. He ignored it and kept his focus on Sheppard.

"Excuse me, sirs, what's going on here?" asked Sergeant Pinvidic, standing at the top of the stairs with a Russian soldier by the name of Ivanov.

"He's a Replicator!" insisted Evan desperately. "Get an ARG and shoot him!"

Ivanov frowned in confusion, his gaze flickering from from Evan to Sheppard to Pinvidic, who cocked his head disbelievingly. "Что происходит? Репликаторов?" the Russian muttered to the big Marine.

"Я не знаю," Pinvidic replied in a low voice, his concern obvious as he laid his hand on his own sidearm.

Sheppard didn't budge. "Major, I am _not _a Replicator!" he maintained, though Evan could see the smug satisfaction behind the facade of concern. "Put the gun down, now!"

At the top of the stairs, Sergeant Pinvidic tapped his radio. "Control, there is an emergency situation in the crew quarters atrium. Send a security team and Colonel Carter at once."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I edited this story slightly to fix a few bits. Also, for those who are wondering about the Russian lines-

Ivanov: "What is happening? Replicators?

Pinvidic: "I don't know."


	59. Three Million Light Years To Go

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 1.19, "The Siege, Part I"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>"Major." Colonel Caldwell nodded to Evan. "How's the embarkation coming along?"<p>

"All personnel and supplies are aboard and stowed, Colonel. We're ready to depart when you are," Evan reported. Surprisingly, delays had been minimal and everything had gone more quickly than expected; time was of the essence, and everyone knew it. The Wraith fleet could arrive at Atlantis any day, and it would take at least three for the _Daedalus _to cross the vast distance from the Milky Way, even with its engines augmented by a Zero Point Module.

"Very good, Major Lorne. Comms, get me Stargate Command."

A few moments later, and General O'Neill's face appeared on the screen, the bustle of the SGC control room visible behind him.

"_All your campers packed up and secured, Caldwell?_" O'Neill asked.

"Yes, sir, just waiting on your go-ahead."

"_You have a go, Colonel. Make sure Atlantis is in one piece_," O'Neill replied, then he vanished from the screen, to be replaced by the SGC seal.

Caldwell immediately turned and sat in his chair, all business. "Helm, take us out of orbit. Set a course for Atlantis and engage hyperdrive."

"Yes, sir," the helmsman replied, already at work on the panel before him. "Coming about, one-one-zero."

Evan watched with a slight pang as the brilliant blue curve of the Earth disappeared from view as the _Daedalus _came about. He felt the engine vibration change slightly through his boots, and the ship leaped forward, entering a hyperspace window. _Only three million light years to go_, Evan thought wryly.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, he stared out the one of the windows in the mess hall, nursing a cooling cup of coffee as the eerily beautiful blue and white of hyperspace streaked by. Behind him, the room buzzed with conversation; <em>Daedalus <em>was packed to bursting with men and supplies, and things were going to be a little uncomfortable for the next three days as both crew and passengers coped with the cramped conditions.

"Sir?"

Evan turned to see Coughlin standing behind him, an unusually sober expression on his face. "Yeah, what is it, Coughlin? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about this; it's a little late to change your mind."

"No, sir." Coughlin shook his head slightly. Part of Evan had been worried about him; Coughlin had been married less than a year, and the Pegasus Galaxy was very, very far away from Colorado Springs. "I'm fine, sir," he replied, almost reading Evan's thoughts. "It's not me, it's Reed. He's a little sick at the moment, sir."

"Wait, what?" Reed was one of the most solid, dependable men Evan had ever served with, and he and Coughlin had been inseparable since they joined the SGC. And Reed was rarely, if ever, out of action for any reason, let alone illness.

Coughlin grimaced a bit. "I don't know. He's never been in hyperspace before, sir, and I can't say he's enjoying the experience. It's just making him a bit... woozy, sir."

Evan frowned in concern. He'd heard of a few cases of space sickness, though nothing seriously impairing. "He talked to the docs yet?"

"Yes, sir, they gave him something for the nausea. He's back in his bunk now, sir," Coughlin replied.

Inwardly, Evan groaned in frustration. If Reed remained ill the entire trip, it might put him out of action when they arrived at Atlantis. Given that they didn't know the situation there, having even one man out was definitely not good, even without taking into account that Reed was a member of _Evan's_team. "Okay, thanks for informing me, Coughlin."

Hopefully, a little space sickness would be the biggest problem they faced on the three day journey, because heaven only knew what waited for them once they reached their destination.


	60. What Sort of Time Do You Call This?

**Setting**: Stargate Atlantis season 3  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the Stargate franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan glanced at his watch and frowned. It was already 1330 hours - where was he? Instead of heading back to his quarters as he planned, he hopped the nearest transporter to Stargate Operations.<p>

"Hey, Chuck, have the chaplain or Stukowski checked in at all? They were supposed to be back an hour ago," Evan asked, a heavy feeling growing in his gut.

The Canadian Gate technician shook his head negatively. "No, sir, we haven't heard anything from them. You want me to dial them up?" he asked, gesturing to the DHD.

An hour's delay could mean nothing; the chaplain had been known to lose track of time on occasion, but Senior Airman Grant Stukowski was practically a Swiss clock in Air Force BDUs. He took his role as chaplain's assistant as seriously as a Secret Service agent guarding the president, especially out in the field. And he knew as well as any member of the Stargate Program that an hour's delay, in this line of work, could mean disaster, destruction, and/or death in a variety of gruesome and horrific manners.

"Yeah. Let's see what's holding them up," ordered Evan uneasily.

As Chuck tapped out the address on the DHD, Evan watched the Stargate light up in sequence. To their surprise, as the seventh chevron lit up, the Gate shut down.

"Huh. That's weird," Chuck frowned. He entered the address again. Again, the Stargate failed to connect. "I think we're getting a busy signal, sir. Either that, or their Gate's been rendered unconnectable."

That heavy feeling in the pit of Evan's stomach sent icy tendrils into the rest of his body. "Try again in five minutes," he told the Gate tech as he hurried towards Dr. Weir's office to inform her of the situation.

It was over ten minutes later before Chuck finally managed to establish a wormhole. Even then, there was no answer on radio.

"They might be out of range," the Canadian suggested hopefully.

Withing a few minutes, Evan and his team were in a puddlejumper and making a bee-line for the village that the chaplain and his assistant were visiting. Evan called up the HUD.

"Okay, that's not good," he remarked as he examined the readout.

"No life signs?" Reed muttered, staring at the display.

"Damn, look at that," Coughlin pointed: pillars of dark smoke billowed into the air.

Evan, sensing sudden danger, immediately cloaked the puddlejumper. "Wraith," he said flatly. "They dialed in here to prevent anyone from escaping. This was a culling."

They circled the area for a few minutes, but the Wraith were long gone, and so were the villagers. Evan closed his eyes for a moment; he hated to think of the chaplain and Stukowski in the hands of the Wraith, or lying dead somewhere on the ground. But the puddlejumper detected no life signs for miles in any direction.

Suddenly, he heard something. Frowning, he checked the instruments on the jumper.

"What's up, sir?" Coughlin asked, leaning forward.

"Anyone else hear that?"

"Hear what, sir?" Reed replied curiously.

Evan cocked his head slightly. "It sounded like static on the com system," he said. Even as he spoke, the static crackled faintly.

"Okay, I definitely heard that," affirmed Coughlin. "Is that just interference or someone on the line?"

"One way to find out," Evan said. He activated the com system in the jumper. "Is there anyone out there?" After a moment, the static crackled again, briefly.

"That is definitely not random interference," observed Reed.

Evan tried again. "If you can hear me, give us another signal."

There was an interminable pause. Finally, static crackled in three long bursts, followed by three short, then three long.

The jumper's cabin was filled with cheers; Coughlin and Reed slapped each other on the back, while Evan sighed in profound relief.

"It's good to hear from you!" he said over the radio, already using the puddlejumper to locate the source of the signal. It seemed to be coming from one of the collapsed buildings which had likely been hit by Wraith weapons fire. Evan gently landed the jumper in a nearby square, and the three men ran towards the rubble.

At first, he still couldn't find anything on the lifesigns detector. The three of them carefully picked their way through the debris, looking in vain for their missing men.

"Where are they?" Coughlin asked in frustration, glancing all around the fallen beams and smashed furniture. It looked like the building had once been a community gathering place of some sort; ominously, children's toys, both rough wooden items made by the locals and brilliantly colored ones obviously donated from Earth, were scattered amid the rubble.

Evan tried the radio again. "Hey, where are you guys?"

The static burst even more loudly in their ears:

-.. - .- -.

"'Down'?" Coughlin repeated. "Down where?"

"Here!" Reed exclaimed in discovery. Evan rushed over to see what he was pointing at: a trap door, mostly buried in rubble. With all the weight resting atop it, it would have been impossible to open from the inside. Gingerly, the three men worked to clear the mess without collapsing any more of the weakened structure. Finally, they shoved the last of it aside. Reed yanked on the heavy ring and pulled the trap door open with an enormous effort – it had been heavily reinforced, which was likely the reason for the radio interference, and why the lifesigns detector didn't read anything.

From the darkness below, they heard the familiar voice of the chaplain.

"It's about time you boys got here! I'd just about run out of campfire songs to teach the kids!"

"Speak for yourself, padre," quipped an unseen Stukowski, "I still have a good two dozen left."


	61. You Should've Used a Mac

**Setting**: Following _Stargate __Atlantis_ episode 4.13, "Quarantine"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN**: I think almost everyone of a reasonable age has had something like this happen to them at least once. You have my sympathy.  
>This fic is dedicated to the late Steve Jobs - the world is diminished by his loss.<p>

* * *

><p>Unbelievable.<p>

While not the only word to describe the situation, nor the most colorful, it was definitely apt, all things considered.

You would think, given all the wonderful and downright miraculous technology that had been acquired over the past ten years or so of Stargate travel, these sorts of things would be relegated to the past, a distant memory of a more primitive time.

You'd be wrong.

Evan stared at the blue screen of his laptop in utter disbelief.

"You have got to be _kidding__ me_!" he said aloud to the air.

Part of him wanted to smash the computer in frustration. Of course, that wouldn't solve the underlying problem, but it might make him feel better in the short term. But then the IOA would take the cost for a replacement laptop out of his paycheck, so it wasn't such a good idea after all.

With a sigh of frustration, he slammed the laptop lid closed and simply stared at it for a moment before scooping up the whole thing and going in search of some computer guy who _wasn__'__t _busy checking over the city after the central operating system had a little nervous breakdown and initiated a lockdown, which was only ended after a manual shutdown.

The thought that even Ancient computers weren't immune to failure wasn't much of a comfort in his current situation.

He finally made his way to Stargate Operations. The computer geeks, led by McKay, were all dashing madly about, no doubt doing some very complicated computer stuff that Evan would never understand.

"No, no, no!" McKay was ranting as Evan walked in. "We want to run a _diagnostic_ of the drive systems, not _activate_ them! Do you _want _us all to die horrible deaths after you've drained all the power we have left?"

Definitely not a good time. But McKay spotted him before he could leave unnoticed.

"What do you want, Lorne? You can tell Sheppard we're nowhere _near_ done with the diagnostics, and he just has to wait in line!" the grouchy Canadian scientist snapped.

Evan winced inside, wondering (not for the first time) why Sheppard hadn't shot the man yet. "It's not that, McKay, it's my laptop. I was just looking for someone to fix it."

McKay glared at him with an expression of total disparagement. "What do you think I am, the Geek Squad?" he retorted. "You guys are unbelievable! This city has pretty much had a system-wide meltdown, and you're worried about your _laptop_!"

There was definitely a headache building behind his eyes. "McKay, I wasn't going to ask _you_ to fix it," he replied with exaggerated patience. "I was hoping Chuck might be available."

"Oh." The head scientist deflated a bit while his fellow Canadian hid a grin. "Fine. Carry on, or whatever it is you military types do."

"Here, let me take a look at it," Chuck offered. Evan handed the laptop over to the gate technician with a feeling of profound relief. Chuck opened it up and took a look at the screen. "Blue screen of death. Classic. Luckily, this is easy to fix." He pressed a few keys, and the laptop rebooted properly.  
>"There you go, Major," he grinned, handing the computer back.<p>

"Thanks, Chuck," Evan said, grateful to be done here so he could escape back to his quarters and leave them to their work.

"You should've used a Mac," he heard McKay mutter as he left.


	62. A Rather Unexpected Rescue

**Setting**: Four years after _Stargate SG-1_ episode 3.09, "Rules of Engagement," and following episode 7.10, "Birthright."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

**A/N**: Whatever happened to all those would-be infiltrators from "Rules of Engagement," anyway...?

* * *

><p>Evan woke up in a dungeon, his head throbbing and blood boiling. He should've seen it coming; their genial host had been far too accommodating, insisting that Evan and his team share a meal with him.<p>

"Rule Number 1: Don't eat the food," he muttered angrily to himself as he sat up. How many times had bad things happened when an SG team member ate the local cuisine? One of his first off-world missions, and he gets himself and his team captured. What a way to start his first command.

He heard a groan from the corner of the room; Stevens slowly pushed himself upright, muttering rather violent curses under his breath. Coughlin and Reed stirred as well where they were unceremoniously dumped in a heap to one side.

"Everyone alright?" Evan asked.

Coughlin grimaced, laying an arm across his stomach. "Oh, God, that stuff really has a kick," he moaned. Reed helped him sit up and put his head between his knees to stave off the nausea. The big guy seemed alright, but he rarely seemed troubled by anything.

"I'm good, sir," Stevens replied, wincing as he rubbed his temples. "I'm gonna kill the slimy bastard."

"First, we gotta get out of here," Evan pointed out pragmatically. He examined their cell: it appeared to be solid stone, with no windows and only one door, constructed of heavy wood and reinforced by metal bars. Their situation did not look hopeful.

Slowly, his headache faded. Coughlin, leaning back against the wall, had regained a good deal of color and no longer looked like death warmed over. Evan suddenly heard muffled voices outside the door, followed by the scrape of a heavy lock. The door opened, and five guards armed with nasty looking swords entered the room, followed by a smaller fellow a good two inches shorter than Evan and maybe 20 years old, standing authoritatively with his hands behind his back.

"Soldiers of the Tau'ri," he addressed them, "You will be taken to the Chappa'ai and handed over to the servants of the god Moloc. There is a great reward for your heads, alive or dead, and my master is much desirous of it."

"Oh, charming," Evan replied sardonically. He glanced at Stevens, purposefully maintaining a relaxed stance as he looked for an opportunity to make a move. "Isn't Moloc the snake who decided to kill every female Jaffa that was born in his little corner of the galaxy?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Stevens affirmed easily. "Can't say that I ever want to meet him, sir."

"I'm rather attached to my head, sir. Prefer not to lose it if at all possible," remarked Coughlin, obviously feeling well enough to make awful puns. He had managed to climb to his feet and was leaning against Reed slightly.

The young man smiled at Evan, then revealed what he held in his hands behind his back: two 9-millimeter sidearms. "You'll be leaving here one way or another," he stated ominously - then abruptly opened fire, killing all five guards in seconds.

Even as the lifeless corpses hit the floor, their unexpected savior handed one of the sidearms to Evan, along with an extra clip which he produced from his pocket. "Come on, Major, there's not a lot of time. I have the rest of your gear in a safe place - we can retrieve it on the way out."

"Who are you, and why are you helping us?" Evan demanded, swiftly checking his weapon.

"It's a long story, sir. We gotta get outta here now. I can get you back to the Chappa'ai - the Stargate," he corrected himself, then grinned. "Well, at least I don't have to be a casualty for the rest of the day this time. Follow me."

The young man turned swiftly and left the room, gripping the 9-mil in a professional manner; clearly, he had training. "Let's go," Evan said, following after the kid. It was a few tense minutes of stealthy sneaking through corridors and up twisting stairs before they were led into a side room where all their gear was carefully laid out. The young man kept a lookout as they threw their tac vests on and strapped their holsters. Fortunately, nothing seemed to be tampered with. Suddenly, they heard distant shouting.

"Well, so much for sneaking out of here..." Evan observed grimly.

The young man snorted in disgust, his face a mask of derision. "These bastards are a bunch of thugs, sir. While they can beat up defenseless villagers just fine, they're no match for trained soldiers."

"Could we at least get your name before we storm the castle?" asked Coughlin, his eyes glinting in the torchlight.

"Hibbard, sir," he replied with a cocky grin. "Lieutenant Hibbard. And I can't tell you how weird it is to see guys from the SGC again after all this time. Aim high - fly, fight, win."


	63. Red Poppies

**Setting**: Twenty five years prior to _Stargate Atlantis_ season 1.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the Stargate franchise.  
><strong>AN**: Today is Veterans Day in the United States and Remembrance Day in the British Commonwealth. Celebrated on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, it commemorates the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I and has since evolved into a day to recognize and acknowledge the sacrifice made by veterans of all wars.

* * *

><p>Seven year old Evan Lorne stared in awe at the table covered with red flowers of an even brighter shade than a fire truck.<p>

"Here, Evan," his grandfather said, taking one of the flowers and pinning it to the boy's shirt. His own lapel already had a bright flower on it. "They're called poppies," Grandpa explained. "We wear them so that we remember, long time ago, there was a war. A great and terrible war that covered the entire world."

"Were you there?" Evan asked curiously as he fingered the crimson flower on his shirt.

"I was a child at the time, just about your age, Evan. But my father, your great-grandfather, he fought in the Great War," he smiled, but he seemed sad. He led Evan to a nearby bench and sat down, his hands gently holding Evan's. "President Wilson called it 'the war to end all wars.' Many people like my dad went far, far away to fight to protect our freedom. I still have every one of the letters he sent to my mother and me from overseas - if you want, I'll let you read them sometime."

His grandfather closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Don't be sad, Grandpa," Evan begged with all the honest reassurance a child could offer.

"It's alright, Evan," his grandfather told him, but there were tears on his cheeks. Evan had never known his grandfather to cry. "It's been a very long time since I've talked about my dad, and the truth is I can barely remember him at all."

"Why?" frowned Evan, not understanding how someone could forget his own father.

"Because he died in the War, and went to Heaven. All I have left are his letters and a few photographs. But if I try really hard, I can still remember," a slow smile crossed his face, "one time he came into my room and sat next to my bed and said the night-night prayer."

"The same one Mom and Dad say?"

"The same one," his grandfather nodded. "And after my dad left, my mother came to my room every night and said the night-night prayer and told me that my father was saying it with her, wherever he was."

"I think your mommy was smart," Evan replied sagely. "'Cause _my _mommy says the same thing when Dad goes away."

Evan's grandfather ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, and your mommy is a smart lady, too, Evan," he laughed as his grandson hopped off the bench and grabbed his hand.

"Can you show me the pictures of your dad when we get home, Grandpa?" he asked.

His grandfather seemed momentarily surprised, but definitely touched by the request. "Of course I'll show you, Evan," he replied, wiping away the moisture in his eyes.

~o0o~

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._

_At the going down of the sun and in the morning,_

_We will remember them._

-Laurence Binyon


	64. Not What You Thought

**Setting**: During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 3.15, "The Game"  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN**: This is written in response to a request by **Ranger-Nova**. Cheers!

* * *

><p>"...so the Canadians say, 'No, <em>you <em>divert your course!' And the Americans reply that their fleet consists of the aircraft carrier U.S.S. _Coral Sea_ accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers, and other support vessels, and once again demand that the _Canadians _change course. The Canadians reply, 'This is a lighthouse. Your call.'"

Evan shook his head, chuckling helplessly. "You know, I first heard that story ten years ago, and I'm telling you, it's an urban legend."

"You're joking!" Dr. Zelenka said, a bit crestfallen.

"The _Coral Sea_ was _scrapped _in '93! Besides, I might be an Air Force fighter jock at heart, but I've never heard of the Navy mistaking Newfoundland for a Canadian fleet." He grinned sympathetically at the Czech scientist. "I've heard about ten different versions of the lighthouse gag over the years, Doc, and the funniest part of it is hearing which parts have changed since the last time. Where'd you hear this story, anyway?"

"It was Captain Levine from the _Daedalus_, actually," the Czech replied, his shoulders drooping slightly. "It is not a true story?"

Evan sighed affectionately. For being so smart, so many of the scientists he knew on Atlantis could be so hilariously gullible at times. "Frank Levine's brother is a lieutenant in the Navy, so he likes to rag on sailors any chance he gets." He wasn't going to be too hard on Zelenka, though; he knew tons of people who had thought that story, in any one of its variations, had been true. And, true or not, it really was a great story.

"_Nikdy nebudu poslouchat, že chytrák někdy znovu_," Zelenka muttered under his breath. Evan hid another grin; he had no doubt that the scientist would find some way to get his personal revenge on Levine, and he thanked his lucky stars it wasn't Coughlin this time.

"So, Doc, what was it you wanted to show me?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"Ah!" The Czech perked up, leading him into a room off the main corridor in which they were walking. "This is it!"

Evan glanced around the room - to him, it look pretty much like any of a hundred other Ancient labs they'd found in Atlantis. "This is what?"

Zelenka grinned. "This is where Rodney and Colonel Sheppard played the Game," he explained, gesturing briefly.

Evan examined the screens and consoles with new interest. "Huh. You know, I always loved _Civilization_. Never thought I'd run into the real world version. Weird."

"It is interesting, yes. Unfortunately, the Ancients were not so good at leaving behind instruction manuals for their laboratories. It was sheer chance that you happened to come across one of the worlds they were studying," Zelenka observed. "Leave it to Rodney to make them put his face on the flag."

"Yeah, well, you should have seen the looks on _our_ faces when we saw that! You know how nothing fazes Reed?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, he just about died of laughter once we got back to the jumper after giving our report back here," Evan recalled. Something told him that Rodney was going to be the subject of another one of Coughlin and Reed's pranks sometime in the near future; McKay was one of their favorite targets, and people still told the story of the infamous plastic lemon incident with great relish.

"So, Major Lorne..." Zelenka pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You want to see how it works?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: For those who might be wondering, our dear Czech said, "_I'll never listen to that smart aleck ever again._"

Also, _Civilization _refers to the perennially popular _Sid Meier's Civilization_ empire-building computer game series.

And, by the way, the story about the Canadian lighthouse versus the American fleet is a actual urban legend - one so pervasive that the U.S. Navy has a page on its website debunking it.


	65. One Beautiful Day in Antarctica

**Setting**: Prior to _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle."  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN**: The United States Marine Corps celebrated its 236th birthday on November 10. I wish every Marine a (somewhat belated) happy birthday, and express my profound appreciation for your honor, dedication, and sacrifice. Semper fi!

* * *

><p>The snowy landscape slid by beneath him, brilliantly beautiful. He'd never thought about Antarctica as beautiful before, but his time training here at McMurdo had given him to ponder the dazzling landscape. His fingered itched to put paint to canvas, but he was forced to satisfy himself with graphite and paper, very poor substitutes.<p>

"You awake up there, Major?" Anders's voice crackled in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm here," Evan replied, checking his instruments. The F-302 was the most amazing aircraft he'd ever flown; relatively compact and ridiculously maneuverable, it was capable of both atmospheric and space flight - something unheard of only a decade ago. Plus, its railguns were far superior to anything else on planet Earth, capable of propelling a slug at a speed of Mach five at a distance of 250 miles, plus a complement of specially enhanced AIM 120A air-to-air missiles.

Anders chuckled from his seat in the back. "You feel like you can take anything on with this baby, don't you, Major?" he said, reading Evan's thoughts.

"Hell, yeah," grinned Evan, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "The simulator is one thing, but flying a bird like this in real life...!"

"You're telling _me_, Major! As I'm always telling my folks, people who don't want to fly are crazy!" Anders remarked cheerfully.

"Yeah? And what do _they _say, Anders?"

"Oh, they just smile and nod and tell me it's nice I found something I like doing!" he replied. "You want to try something a little more exciting, Major?"

"Bring it on, Anders!" Evan challenged the cocky man in the back seat.

* * *

><p>"Grandpa, tell me the story again!" little Evan begged as he plopped down on his grandfather's lap.<p>

His grandfather chuckled indulgently. "What again? Oh, if you insist, Evan!" He settled into storytelling mode, his eyes alight and sparkling with good cheer. "Once upon a time, there was a great war covering all the world. In the middle of all the fighting there was a brave and clever pilot called Papa Bear. Now the bad guys, they thought they could keep Papa Bear locked up in prison, where he couldn't cause any trouble for them; but what they didn't know was that every night Papa Bear and his friends would sneak out..."

* * *

><p>Evan shook his head in confusion. Distantly, he heard alarms, and someone was yelling in his ear. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his brain of the cobwebs. "Wha...?" he mumbled, completely disoriented.<p>

"_EJECT!_" he suddenly heard clearly, the desperate order breaking through the fog.

Years of training drummed into his brain took hold. He reached out and pulled the ejection release.

The doomed F-302 fell away beneath him, exploding in a massive fireball when it impacted the snowy rocks below a moment later. The enormous heat of it scorched Evan's face. Dimly, he realized that he wasn't nearly high enough for his parachute to deploy fully. He was coming down hard.

"_Oh, God,_" he had time to think, and then everything went dark.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: G-LOC, or _G-force induced Loss Of Consciousness_, has been known to produce brief but vivid dreams. G-LOC is a real and potentially fatal phenomenon, especially at low altitudes, even to trained and experienced pilots.


	66. The Mysterious Doctor Jackson

**Setting**: _Stargate SG-1 _late season 6  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN**: This story arose out of a conversation I had with **ladygris**. Major Evan Lorne, a new member of the SGC, keeps hearing stories about this guy Daniel Jackson...

* * *

><p>"Dr. Jackson, sir? Oh, he's something of a legend around here. He's the guy that figured out the Stargate in two weeks, when the biggest brains at the Pentagon had spent two years on it. Plus, he speaks more than twenty languages and negotiated Earth's entry into the Asgard Protected Planets Treaty," explained the bespectacled sergeant, who reminded Evan eerily of Radar O'Reilly from <em>M*A*S*H<em>. "Coffee, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Sergeant. Yeah, I keep hearing these stories about him, but I never met the guy. What happened to him?" Evan asked, gratefully accepting the steaming cup.

"He died, sir. I'm not too worried, though; he's done it before. I'm sure he'll be back again eventually," Harriman replied with a casual shrug.

Evan inhaled hot coffee. He set his cup down on a nearby table before he spilled it as he coughed forcefully.

"You okay, sir?" solicitously inquired Sergeant Harriman, entirely unperturbed by Evan's sudden shock.

"Yeah," Evan hoarsely replied, finally controlling the spasms. "Yeah, I'm good. Did you say that Dr. Jackson's _died_ before, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct," Harriman affirmed. He said it as casually as if he were claiming that Dr. Jackson had merely gone grocery shopping and would be back after lunch.

"Dead. As in..."

"As in _dead_, sir," nodded the sergeant.

Evan stared dubiously at Harriman, trying to decide if the sergeant were pulling his leg in some sort of 'Welcome to Stargate Command' hazing ritual. "Right..."

"People don't always stay dead around here, sir. You get used to it after awhile. Dr. Jackson's been killed or presumed dead something like half a dozen times already. And we already know that he didn't stay dead this last time, either." Harriman nonchalantly sipped at his own coffee.

It was absolutely impossible to tell if the man were joking or not. His expression was completely straight, so he either had the best poker face Evan had ever seen, or he was indeed serious.

Or both.

"How do you know he didn't stay dead?" Part of him couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth; it was totally ludicrous.

"Dr. Jackson became a being of energy and ascended to another plane of existence," was Harriman's matter-of-fact explanation.

Evan opened and closed his mouth several times to reply to that statement. "So..." Evan said finally, "you actually believe that one day Dr. Jackson's just going to... walk in the front door?"

"There's an unofficial betting pool about where he's going to turn up, sir. Most people think they're going to run into him by accident on another planet," Harriman remarked. "Personally, I'm holding out for the general's office."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: By this point, Daniel's well on his way to establishing his role as the Kenny of Stargate. He was killed, nearly killed, and/or presumed dead in: _Stargate _(the movie), "Fire and Water," "The Nox," "The Serpent's Lair, Part III" "The Light," and "Meridian," at the very least (honorable mention goes to "Crystal Skull"). This isn't taking into account the deaths of alternate Daniels in "There But For the Grace of God," "Point of View," or "2010," or that of the alien impostor in "Foothold" or the android double in "Double Jeopardy."


	67. Amber Waves of Grain

**Setting**: _Stargate: SG-1 _early season 7 / _Stargate Atlantis_ early season 1  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN**: I'd like to wish all my fellow Americans a safe and joyful Thanksgiving holiday - celebrate and share the gifts of family and friendship and carry that spirit through into the rest of your lives.

* * *

><p>"Wow... Now that's a lot of grass!" Stevens whistled, taking in the incredible scene before them as they stood in front of the Stargate. Miles of golden sheaves stretched in every direction, waving in a cool wind that carried the scent of rich earth and the promise of rain. Far in the distance, they could see the dark shapes of mountains piercing the brilliant blue sky already punctuated by the first dark forerunners of a storm.<p>

"You're stating the obvious again, you realize that, don't you?" As Evan stepped down off the stone platform that the Stargate rested on, he realized the grass was taller than he was. "Okay, yeah, that's a lot of grass."

"Hey, Major, don't get lost down there!" Coughlin called down to him from the platform above. "I need you to stick around and be the best man at my wedding."

Evan, Reed, and Stevens all turned to stare at Coughlin, who grinned absurdly back at them.

"So _that's_ what it was," Reed remarked, resting his arms on his P-90. "I'd been wondering."

"Hey, man, congratulations!" Stevens clapped Coughlin on the shoulder, nearly sending the man sprawling into the grass. "Who's the poor woman you tricked into marrying you?"

"Her name's Joanne," Coughlin replied stoutly. "And if anyone got tricked, it was me!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Evan held up a hand. The name 'Joanne' sparked a memory in his mind. "This wouldn't be the same 'Joanne' you dated when we were back at Nellis, would it? The one who got you with your own booby trap?"

To everyone's surprise, Coughlin actually blushed slightly. "I thought we weren't going to mention that, sir," he replied, but he was still smiling. "I never tried anything on her again."

"You kept in touch with her after you transferred?" asked Evan, still trying to get over the fact that Coughlin, of all people, was actually getting married. Though, from what he knew of Joanne, she would be the likeliest candidate, able to give as good as she got.

"Turns out she moved to Colorado Springs not long after I left Nellis," Coughlin explained, his face still a bit flushed. "I ran into her at the grocery store about two days after I joined the SGC."

"The grocery store?" Reed chuckled, apparently unable to conceal his amusement at the thought of Coughlin running into an old girlfriend hundreds of miles away... in a grocery store. "And then, I suppose, one thing led to another, and you completely forgot to tell us _anything_ about it?" he remarked, sounding slightly wounded.

"I have to tell you, Coughlin, I'm with Reed on this one," Evan said as the rest of his team stepped down into the tall grass. "All this time, and not even a word!"

"Come on, guys, let's find a lake and dump him in," Stevens suggested helpfully.

"We'll be lucky to find our way back to the Gate in this grass," Evan pointed out, nudging the sheaves with his boot.

"Speak for yourself, sir," Reed grinned. The taller man's eyes peeked over the top of the waving grass as he stood next to Evan.

"Well, if we do find a lake, feel free to dump me in," Coughlin smiled challengingly. Knowing him, whoever tried would likely end up in the water themselves. Then again, the rain Evan smelled on the wind might just soak them all anyway. "So, sir, after you're all done dropping me in a lake, will you be the best man at my wedding?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world, Coughlin," Evan replied, shaking his head with laughter.


	68. Stay With Me

**Setting: **During _Stargate: Atlantis_ episode 3.12, "Echoes."  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan winced as a wave of agony lanced through his head. It was only a matter of time before he was completely incapacitated like so many others, but for now he pushed through the pain. Glancing around the infirmary, he saw Dr. Beckett moving from bed to bed, checking on the status of his ever-growing number of patients. Evan had come to admire the Scottish physician for his almost tireless dedication to helping people. Some doctors didn't <em>like <em>people, living only for the work, but Carson had a naturally kind and caring demeanor.

Finally, Evan spotted the person he came to see. In a bed tucked away to the side, Coughlin lay pale and unnaturally still, his eyes staring listlessly at the ceiling. It wrung Evan's heart to see him in such a state; every other time Coughlin had been ill or injured, he'd always been too active for his own good, teasing and joking with the nurses and other patients until their patience wore out and they discharged him for the sake of their own sanity.

He sat down on the stool next to the bed, trying not to grimace as another spear of pain stabbed him in the head. Slowly, Coughlin's eyes locked on his. Blinking sluggishly, the man worked to formulate a coherent sentence.

"You look like hell, sir," he said finally, his speech slurred. They'd almost certainly given him some heavy-duty painkillers.

Evan smiled; at least Coughlin had managed to keep his sense of humor after all. "You're a fine one to talk. At least I'm not lazing around in bed, wasting my time and driving the medical staff to distraction."

"That's funny, sir. Real funny," Coughlin replied, his voice barely more than a mere breath. "And as soon as I'm out of here, I'll let you know exactly how funny."

"You do that, Coughlin, and I'll have you on KP for a week," Evan warned him lightly. "I'm still your commanding officer, after all."

Coughlin sighed, closing his eyes. "Yes, sir," he whispered, a slight smile on his lips. "I'll try to remember that, sir."

Within a few moments, he was fully asleep, his chest rising and falling shallowly as he snored softly.  
>"You hang with us, Coughlin," Evan ordered the sleeping form quietly. "Joanne would never forgive me, and how would I explain to Reed that I let you die while he was on leave?"<p>

"Yes, Mother," Coughlin murmured, still as seemingly asleep as before.

Despite himself, despite the whole desperate situation, a chuckle escaped Evan's lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the Ancient medical team working desperately to save the millenia-dead pilot.

A warm liquid drop hit his hand. Glancing down, he saw a crimson spatter against his skin. Putting his fingers to his face, he felt more coming from his nose. "Damn," he muttered, applying pressure to the bleed.

"Here, let me help, Major," Doctor Beckett advised as he appeared at Evan's shoulder, holding out a clean pad to absorb the excess blood.

"Thanks, Doc," Evan replied gratefully, accepting the proffered pad. "How is everyone doing?"

The doctor sighed, his face grim and almost grey with exhaustion of his own. "We lost Sergeant Bell a few minutes ago I'm afraid. He developed an aneurysm from the pressure. How are you faring, Major?"

Evan's jaw tightened as he looked back at Coughlin, his face drawn and pallid even while unconscious. "Better than he is."


	69. Caught in the Act

**Setting:** During season 8 of _Stargate: SG-1_, concurrent with season 1 of _Stargate Atlantis_.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>The moment Evan entered the lab, Dr. Lee looked up guiltily, clicking hastily on his keyboard. "Uh... can I help you, Major?" he asked, trying to act nonchalant (and failing spectacularly).<p>

"I was looking for Colonel Carter, actually. You seen her?" Evan casually put his hands in his pockets as he strolled closer to the nervous scientist.

"N-no, well, yes, I mean," he stuttered.

"Take a breath, Doc," Evan advised him.

Lee inhaled deeply several times. "She was called away to Dr. Felger's lab to fix whatever disaster he came up with this time, and that was something like an hour ago. I have no idea when she'll be back. Sorry, Major."

"That's fine, Doc." Evan glanced down at Lee's computer screen, which was conspicuously displaying only the desktop. Very innocuous, that. Maybe Lee was hoping that he wouldn't notice the minimized application at the bottom of the screen. Evan might be Air Force, but he wasn't as clueless as a lot of the science geeks seemed to think. With a precise, deliberate movement, he clicked on the icon, opening the window to its normal size. "Wow. Really, Doc?" he remarked in amusement as he saw what Lee had been trying to hide.

Lee closed his eyes as his face flushed a rather remarkable crimson.

"I should, I mean, I'm just-" he stammered nervously.

"Playing _World of Warcraft_ using a base computer and Internet connection?" Evan helpfully finished for him. Teasing scientists was pretty much a traditional past-time for the SGC military personnel. And this particular situation was just perfect to resist, even for him. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"This?" Lee gestured to the screen. "Oh, this is Warsong Gulch, it's basically just capture the flag- the first team to capture the opposing team's flag three times wins the game."

"I know what capture the flag is, Doc," drawled Evan. In point of fact, he actually knew all about Warsong Gulch, and Alterac Valley, and Arathi Basin... "I was just wondering why you thought it was a good idea to play _World of Warcraft _on SGC computers - computers which are supposed to be used to do things like find ways to save the human race from world-ending alien invasions, asteroid attacks, mutant viruses... you know, that sort of thing."

Just then, another player appeared on the screen, a blue-skinned troll with a yellow mohawk and the name '**Earlgreyhot**' in red text floating above his head. The lanky troll, wielding a pair of rather unlikely looking daggers, skewered Lee's character in the back.

Lee winced as his character collapsed to the ground most dramatically in death. In the box at the bottom of the screen appeared the words "**Earlgreyhot tells a joke.**"

_Evan_ winced as he realized that he now needed to give Coughlin the same lecture he'd just given Lee. (How many troll rogues with blue skin, a yellow mohawk, and the name 'Earlgreyhot' could there possibly be out there, anyway?) Give a guy a high-tech super-duper-whizbang computer to use at work, and the first thing he does is install games when he thinks no one is looking. "You know what? I think I'm going to go find Colonel Carter now," Evan said wryly.


	70. A Room Full of Hotshots

**Setting:** During _Stargate: SG-1 _episode 7.03, "Fragile Balance"  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Technically, Evan didn't even need to attend this briefing. On paper, he was already TDY to SG-11, and, furthermore, still on the injured list from his ill-fated training flight. He wouldn't be in a cockpit again for months at the earliest.<p>

As Evan gingerly hobbled in on his crutches, he noted almost all the pilots at the briefing were new to the program - they would make up the first full squadron of F-302s, the Snakeskinners. And most of them painfully young. He ignored the uncomfortable, surreptitious glances from hotshots still secure in their own immortality.

"Hey, Lorne," said Major Warner, standing up from his seat in the front row.

"Warner," Evan acknowledged with a slight nod. Warner was a good pilot; wise enough to know his own limitations, but skilled enough to know when to push them. He would make a good squadron leader, in Evan's estimation. He tried to squash the twinge of jealousy that twisted in his chest.

"Wasn't sure if you were gonna show up," Warner observed. He managed not to look at Evan's leg, but Evan could tell it was a struggle.

"What, and miss a first-hand account of a 302 in combat? Not likely."

Warner snorted in appreciation. "I know what you mean. Colonel O'Neill's something of a legend around our parts. I mean, he's been at the stick of the 302 in every action it's seen so far. I can't wait to meet the guy."

Evan had heard all the stories about Jack O'Neill, and then some. He'd only met the man in passing, though, and doubted he'd made any sort of impression on him. "He's a bit _different_."

"So I hear," Warner replied wryly. "Hopefully, he'll leave a few snakes for the rest of us. Oh, Lorne, while you're here, I want you to meet Patterson. He'll be my second in command of the squadron. Hey, Patterson, this is Major Evan Lorne."

Patterson, a young captain whose insignia veritably glowed by how new they were, stood up and shook his hand, his eyes unconsciously drifting towards Evan's almost-healed leg. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"You're wondering about the leg, aren't you."

"No, sir," Patterson replied unconvincingly.

Evan shared a meaningful glance with Warner. The other major looked ceiling-ward for a moment. Patterson _had_ to be a better pilot than he was a liar. "Right," Evan drawled, "and my favorite Disney movie is _Pinocchio_."

Patterson blinked in confusion. "Sir?"

Warner winced. "If you aren't careful, Patterson, Lorne here can leave you flying in circles while he comes up on your six and blows you to kingdom come. He's a better pilot than most of the guys in this room, and definitely luckier."

"Well, yeah," Evan agreed amiably. "I could've ended up splattered across a fair-sized stretch of Antarctica. Instead, I'm going off-world as soon as I get off these crutches."

Patterson opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the person giving their briefing – not Colonel O'Neill, as they expected, but his second in command, Major Samantha Carter. Carter, seeing Evan, offered him a friendly smile and nod of acknowledgment.

"Major Lorne. It's good to see you on your feet."

"Thank you, Major," he replied. "Wasn't Colonel O'Neill supposed to give this briefing?"

She winced almost imperceptibly. "The colonel is unavailable at the moment." Now that was prevarication if he ever heard it. Carter appeared almost embarrassed, oddly enough. Evan wondered what would cause _that_ reaction.

This deserved serious inquiry.


	71. Restraint

**Setting:** _Stargate Atlantis _early season 3  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN:**This story isn't exactly what you'd expect for Valentine's Day, but I rather figured that pretty much every other writer here would have romance on tap. So, here's something a bit different.

* * *

><p>Evan had been at his sister's home less than two days before he spotted the man loitering across the street. He wasn't doing anything, just leaning against the street light and glaring balefully towards the house when he thought no one was looking. What <em>he<em> didn't know was that Evan was watching _him_.

Sam Singer.

Prison had not treated the man well, that was certain. Evan remembered him as a man who thought he was infinitely more charming and handsome than he actually was, but now he looked almost repulsive. His expression of utter hatred didn't improve his features, either.

Casually, Evan pulled out his cell phone and scrolled down his list of contacts until he found who he was looking for.

"_This is Macy,"_ the distant voice answered after about eight or nine rings.

"Wow, I'm impressed. You actually picked up the phone!" Evan quipped lightly. "How've you been, Mace?"

"_Do my ears deceive me? Are those the dulcet tones of Major Evan Lorne of the United States Air Force? You're a fine one to talk about picking up the phone, Lorne! I haven't heard from you in ages!" _Macy laughed briefly.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is. If I tell you, I'll have to shoot you and all that. But that's not why I'm calling, Mace," Evan said, his tone turning serious. "It's Sam Singer."

"_Wait, what? Damn, that bastard's out already?"_

"That's an understatement." Evan eyed the lurking figure surreptitiously. "He's across the street from my sister's house right now."

"_Please tell me you're joking, Lorne."_ Macy cursed violently. For a former Air Force man, he sure swore like a Navy sailor. "_Is she alright? She'd better be alright, Lorne!"_

It took a great deal of self-control to keep his voice down and his demeanor relaxed, but he managed. "She's fine, Mace. Singer hasn't done anything yet but stand there looking ugly. He's being careful at the moment, but I just wanted to let you know what's up."

"_I'll make sure there are extra patrol checks in the neighborhood. Can't be too careful, especially with a bastard like Sam Singer. He's bound to try something sooner or later. And when he does... Oh, tell your sister and her husband that I said 'hi.'"_

"Will do. Hey, thanks, Mace."

"_My pleasure, believe me. Hey, maybe later we can get together for a beer."_

Beer was the last thing on Evan's mind at the moment, though Mace knew that full well. More than anything, Evan wanted to go out there and smash Singer's face into the pavement. Inside, it frustrated him, being so close, yet unable to do anything. But this was San Francisco, California, not the Pegasus Galaxy. Here, he wasn't second-in-command of a multinational military force. He was just Evan Lorne, brother - who fortunately happened to have a San Francisco police inspector for an old Air Force buddy. And there was no way in hell that Sam Singer was going to hurt his sister, today or any day.

"Yeah, Mace, that'd be great."


	72. The Mind of a Poet

**Setting: **During _Stargate Atlantis_ episode 4.12, "Spoils of War."

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>A sense of trepidation shot through Evan as he watched the Wraith dart come about with almost preternatural precision to land next to the puddlejumper in the bay of their captured hive ship. Evan disliked dealing with Wraith - Todd might not be hostile at the moment, but Evan didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. Most Wraith saw humans only as animals to be eaten, and, while animals could on occasion be dangerous they weren't necessarily a serious threat.<p>

Todd, however, recognized the possible uses of working _with_ them; he was a sneaky, crafty life-sucker who always looked out for the bottom line, and choosing not to eat the cattle right away was merely a strategic move on his part in a larger game.

Not a fun position for the Atlantis Expedition, especially when they needed him.

"Aaah, Major Lorne. How gratifying it is to see you again," came the familiar drawl of the tall Wraith as climbed smoothly out of his dart.

"Oh, you remember my name. I'm touched," Evan retorted sarcastically, his hands not leaving his P-90. He was more than willing to fill Todd full of lead if necessary.

Todd laughed softly as he drew near Evan. "How could I forget? Apart from Colonel Sheppard, yours was almost the most interesting mind I touched during the weeks you held me prisoner on Atlantis." It was obvious that Todd didn't feel threatened by Evan; it was more like Evan was a curiosity, like a bug on a card.

"Fascinating," Evan said flatly. "Now move."

The Wraith made an almost non-committal noise and stepped past him, moving into the corridor toward the bridge of the hive ship. "Most of my jailers were too busy hiding their fear or contempt to be of any interest. Their thoughts were stacked like rows of bricks to conceal it. You, however, have the mind of a poet. I've eaten enough poets to recognize it. It's captivating, really. How did someone like you come to be a soldier?"

"Shut up, and stay out of my head." Evan didn't raise his P-90, not yet. He shrugged off the creepy-crawly sensation and focused on the task at hand. "We have a job to do here. This is about Colonel Sheppard and the others. If you have problems focusing, maybe a few high-velocity rounds through your feeding hand might help." A 5.7x28 mm round traveling at 715 meters per second would certainly do a number on him.

"As you wish, Major Lorne. Fish in a pond, busy busy, lots to do, here and there." Todd chuckled again, as if he were the cleverest person in the galaxy.

Fantastic – Todd apparently fancied _himself_ a bit of a poet, too, it seemed. "Just keep walking," Evan ordered him tersely.

The tall Wraith shrugged, but obeyed. Evan mused that Todd was the only Wraith he'd ever heard of to have a sense of humor.

Now _that_ was a disturbing thought.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The bit about "fish in a pond" comes from the fifth-season episode "Vegas."


	73. Breaking the Ice

**Setting: **Between _Stargate Atlantis _episodes 2.01, "The Siege, Part III" and 2.02, "The Intruder."  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Before they left for Earth, Evan had asked both Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir how to treat Teyla Emmagan - after all, she was being left in charge of things while they were gone, making her Evan's nominal superior on Atlantis.<p>

"_Always show her respect,"_ Weir had said. "_Not only is she a valued member of Major Sheppard's team and the Atlantis Expedition, she is an important leader among the Athosian people, our first and most important ally in the Pegasus Galaxy. Her word counts for a lot with them."_

Sheppard's advice had also been useful: "_The Athosians might not have a cool Ancient city and high-tech toys like we do, Major, but Teyla can probably kick your ass in hand-to-hand combat. Take some time to stop by the gym and watch her practice and you'll see what I mean. She's no idiot, so don't talk down to her. It's thanks to her that we're still around to have this conversation, you know what I mean?"_

Having read most of the mission reports for the past year, Evan could not help but be impressed by the breadth of Teyla's contributions and commitment to the Expedition - and, being a Stargate field officer himself, he knew that reports rarely did justice to the actual events.

Teyla occupied an unusual role on Atlantis: not only was she a full-fledged member of Sheppard's field expeditionary team and native guide-slash-ambassador to Pegasus, she apparently also served as something of a counselor to a lot of people in the city. People trusted her and came to her for advice. Both the military personnel and the scientists respected her for her fairness and insight - quite an impressive feat as far as Evan was concerned. So, between that, her regular duties, and her time with her people on the mainland, Evan wondered how she had time to sleep.

The major had also given Evan another handy piece of intelligence: "_When we first came to Athos, one of the first things she said was 'We do not trade with strangers.' Get to know her and let her get to know you. My suggestion, Lorne? Sit down and share a cup of tea with her. It's an Athosian custom. If she makes it, just don't drink it all at once; they call that stuff 'stout' for a reason."_

Luckily for Evan, he had just the thing he hoped would help break the ice.

Teyla closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of the drink he had prepared for her from the stash he had practically smuggled from Earth in his personal effects.

"It is an unusual blend. I have never had anything like it," she observed, a smile gracing her lips.

"I thought you'd appreciate it," Evan replied, returning her smile. "It's a North African mint tea. I hear that we still haven't found a similar flavor to mint out here."

"Major Sheppard told me that there was tea flavored with mint on your world, but none was brought with you when your people first came here." She took a sip of the beverage, savoring its flavor.

"Yeah, they figured that coffee would be more important than tea and would take up less space when they were packing, so they sent only the plain stuff. Now that Atlantis is back in contact with Earth, though, hopefully more 'luxury' items will find their way here." Unsurprisingly, there had been practically a stampede to the mess hall after the fresh supplies from _Daedalus_were offloaded once the cleanup from the Wraith siege was finished - Sergeant Stackhouse had told him that the Expedition had almost run out of foodstuffs and seasonings from Earth, and even a little taste of home had produced a remarkable burst of morale.

Teyla took another sip of her tea. "I am anxious to learn all I can about your world. I have lived amongst you for a year, but sometimes I am still confused by your ways. For example, several times Rodney refers to me as 'Xena'. I have meant to ask Major Sheppard what he means, but I have never remembered to ask at an opportune moment."

Oh, this was going to be a fun explanation.


	74. So Much For First Impressions

**Setting:** Between _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.03, "Fragile Balance" and 7.04, "Orpheus."

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Twenty-eight floors above, the sun was setting on the mountain, casting it into deepening shadows. Of course, where Evan was going, that wouldn't matter – apparently, it was mid-day on P3X-403. He wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to the time-shifting between the SGC and other planets. Fortunately, he wasn't going alone; SG-12 was going with him to the base camp to relieve SG-2 as the security detachment.<p>

The guys from SG-12 seemed to mostly ignore him as they waited in the Gateroom; maybe it was because they thought he was just another geologist joining the thus-far unfruitful naquadah survey. Then again, maybe it was because he was a jet-jock.

Either way, it was a question for another time.

As the Gate spun up, Evan pulled on his pack and silently said his farewells to Earth for the next several months. An unconscious smile crossed his face as the unstable vortex burst forth and settled back into the shimmering "puddle". It really was an amazing, wondrous thing.

"First time through the Gate, sir?" Lt. Woeste asked, noticing the expression.

"Huh-? Oh, yeah," he replied distractedly. Absently, he mused that it was a good thing he wasn't a physicist, else he'd be too consumed with the science to appreciate the beauty of it all.

Woeste and his men shared a chuckle. "It's a hell of a ride, sir, but you won't get there if you don't step _in_."

Evan glanced over his shoulder at the men, who were staring back at him with what seemed to be amused impatience. "Oh, right."

"_SG-12, Major Lorne, you have a go,"_ General Hammond said over the PA from the control room. _"Good luck with the survey, and bring us home some naquadah."_

"Okie-dokie, then," Evan muttered under his breath. "Here goes nothing." His heart pounding in his chest, he walked firmly up the ramp and stepped through the event horizon without any hesitation.

~o0o~

The first thing Evan noticed when he burst into the bright daylight on P3X-403 was the chill that reached to his very bones. It faded even as he stepped down off the stone platform on which the Stargate was mounted, but the sudden rush did nothing to settle his stomach contents, which abruptly decided to return the way they came. Fortunately, Evan managed to stagger off to the side before he lost his dinner completely.

"You alright, Major?" Lieutenant Woeste inquired, obviously not too impressed with Evan's performance so far. So much for first impressions, it seemed. Evan could feel their eyes on his back, an uncomfortable, prickly sensation.

Evan felt like an idiot as he cleaned his mouth out with water from his canteen. Ever since the crash that put the brakes on his 302 career, his formerly cast-iron stomach rebelled all too frequently and easily. "Yeah," he replied finally, controlling his muscle spasms as much as he could. "Just peachy."

"Major Lorne, sir."

Evan straightened up to see a pointy-faced fellow in green BDUs, standing at attention - unlike the members of SG-12, he carried no pack. The man saluted him briskly, and Evan returned it with a slight grimace.

"Welcome to P3X-403, sir. I'm Lieutenant Ritter, SG-11. I'm here to escort you to the basecamp."

~o0o~

After an early tragic incident involving the System Lord Nirrti, the SGC had elected not to post signs in front of the Gate advertising their presence for anyone who happened to be passing by. This did not, however, stop some wise guy from carving a piece of wood to read "Camp Moria: Beware Cave Trolls" and posting it just outside the camp on the path from the Gate. The outpost itself turned out to be situated in a rocky but sheltered valley that may have been a riverbed many ages ago, surrounded by thick forests that would not have been out of place in the Pacific Northwest.

As Evan and SG-12 drew near the camp, they were greeted by a graying officer wearing an SG-2 unit patch and a pinched expression.

"Major Griff," saluted Lieutenant Woeste. "SG-12 is here to relieve you."

"It's about time you guys got here," the major said, eying Evan without the slightest apparent trace of curiosity. "We've had a grand old time babysitting here. It's not like we had anything _better _to do, after all. And of course you show up _after _we finish moving the camp, leave all the work to _us_. You'd better have better luck finding naquadah here than at the last two sites." Griff looked impatiently over his shoulder. "Come on, boys, the cavalry's here! Grogan, get your rear in gear so we can get home in time for Christmas!" he shouted.

An harried-looking lieutenant (presumably the unfortunate Grogan) rushed out of one of the tents, struggling to pull on his pack, while two older fellows sauntered over in a far more leisurely fashion. One of them threw SG-12 a jaunty salute as they strolled casually past and up the path towards the Gate.

"Have fun," the major said dryly before following after them. "Grogan, how the hell did you ever make it into the SGC? Damn, I can't wait for a decent cup of coffee..." Evan heard Major Griff complain as SG-2 vanished up the hill and into the trees.

"If you'll follow me," Ritter said, "I'll show you where to stow your packs. Oh, uh, Major, I'll take yours; Colonel Edwards wanted to see you as soon as you arrived." He gestured towards a tent where two men were engaged in an intense conversation – actually, it looked more like one was rather forcefully lecturing the other about something.

"Are all the senior officers around here grumpy?" Evan inquired wryly.

Lt. Ritter winced. "I think it's the coffee, sir. It's terrible."


	75. Behind Enemy Lines

**Setting: **Season 5 of _Stargate Atlantis_.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>Evan struggled against the restraints holding him down. Whatever they had done to him, his head felt like someone was hammering nails into it repeatedly. He winced at the brightness of the light – which only made the pain in his head worse.<p>

One of his captors was speaking, presumably asking him questions, interrogating him, but he didn't understand a word they were saying.

"Lorne... Evan... Major... United States Air Force... 0722... 1970," he gasped through the agony. He would not betray his men or the planet. Another spear of pain lanced through his head. "Lorne... Evan... Maj-" His words devolved into an incoherent moan. He squeezed his eyes shut against the overwhelming intensity of the lights above him.

Finally, after an eternity of unbearable torture, his mind finally fled into blissful unconsciousness.

~o0o~

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself alone in a room, surrounded by equipment obviously meant to monitor him. The pain in his head had receded to a dull thud, and he felt almost disconnected from his body; they had apparently dosed him up with narcotics of some kind.

That wasn't important, however. He had to escape, find his men, and get back to base. The first step was getting himself mobile again. Doing a once-over on himself, he found a needle in his arm, connected to some sort of drip, presumably drugs to make him pliable. He gingerly removed it, applying pressure to the small wound it left. He didn't feel any sign of exterior injury to his head aside from an extremely tender lump and decided against prodding further, figuring it would only make things worse. They had taken his gear when they captured him, and a quick search of his room didn't turn up anything useful.

Unsurprising, but disappointing just the same.

He waited until the corridor was empty before sneaking stealthily away from his room. The facility, wherever they were holding him, was swarming with hostiles. There was no way he would be able to fight his way out; his only option was stealth. And there were too many enemies for him to sneak - he needed to blend in.

He lurked in a small storage room, waiting until someone passed by alone. It was a moment's work to incapacitate the man, pull him into the closet, and strip his uniform. The guy was several inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than him, but he made it work the best he could. He still felt naked without his BDUs, tac vest, and P-90, but the man's clothes would hopefully make him invisible, so long as no one recognized him as the escaped prisoner. Though, given the apparent size of the facility, it seemed unlikely. Unfortunately, by the same token, it might prove to be difficult to locate the rest of his team.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped out of the closet, but he maintained as confident and nonchalant an attitude as he could. No one challenged him as he searched the level he was on.

There was no sign of his men anywhere. And, to make things worse, his headache started to come back just as bad as before. He closed his eyes, leaning up against the wall for a moment to pull himself back together.

"You there-" someone said, coming over to him with a suspicious expression.

Damn. His cover was blown. He took off running, searching desperately for an escape, someplace to hide until he could resume his search for his team. A thought occurred to him: they wouldn't look for an escaped subject where they would expect to find a subject in custody. So he found an empty, unsecured room that looked like a likely candidate, pulled off his purloined shirt, and climbed onto the bed. Pulling the covers up high, he pretended to be asleep. It took an enormous amount of discipline to slow his breathing and heart rate, but there was more at stake than his own life.

"What the- What are you doin' in my bed?" complained a tired-sounding voice. Evan's mind whirled in confusion. Something about this just didn't seem right. He opened his eyes, wincing as the pain in his head flared again. A large man stood in the doorway, dressed as Evan had been, as a prisoner.

Evan sat up immediately, surveying the area to make sure no guards were nearby. "Who are you? How long have you been here?"

"Hey, I could ask you the same question," the guy retorted, apparently irritated.

"Major Lorne." He climbed out of the bed, moving towards the door to keep an eye on the corridor. "They captured me and my team. They're somewhere around here - I don't know what these guys've been doing, but my head is killing me."

The other man frowned slightly as he went to sit on the bed. "Major Lorne, huh? I'm Lieutenant Bonanno."

"Where you from, Lieutenant?" he asked, trying to keep himself calm.

"Boston. Just up the street, you know!" Bonanno said lightly. "You, Major?"

"San Francisco. We need to get out of here, find my team, get back home."

"Huh. Say, Major, you got any idea where we are?" the lieutenant inquired curiously.

"Good question. I don't know how long I've been unconscious, and whatever they've been giving me is... I don't know! I just need to think!" He grimaced in frustration and pain, pressing his fingers to his temples as if to mute the throbbing in his skull.

The lieutenant cocked his head sympathetically. "You don't look so good, Major. Why don't you sit down a minute? I'll keep an eye on the door."

Evan turned back towards the lieutenant, but before he could take more than two steps, whatever energy he'd been running on - adrenaline, whatever - abruptly expired, and he collapsed in a boneless heap to the floor.

~o0o~

When Evan woke up, there was a familiar face sitting in the chair next to his hospital bed. "Hey, I know you from somewhere," Evan mumbled blearily, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his brain. He knew there was _something_ he should be remembering.

The oddly familiar man chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't wearing BDUs or a military uniform, but there was something about him... "Glad to have you back in the land of the conscious, Major Lorne. It's Lieutenant Bonanno - Massachusetts State Police," the man said in a heavy Bostonian accent. "You were quite a mess when you stumbled into my room the other night! I hear you had quite the nasty car accident. Funny thing is, if I weren't a patient myself, I might have been handling your case. Guy who hit you? Big bad in the organized crime way. Anyhow, after you passed out, I call the nurse, and they hauled you back to your room. Seems there're a lotta people with lotsa medals on their chests who're really worried about you, Major."

For some reason, the only thing Evan could think was, _Car accident...?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This is technically a crossover story; Lieutenant Bonanno is borrowed from the TV series _Leverage_. I do not own the character or the series. For Bonanno, this is set during his recovery following his shooting at the end of season 2.

Anyone who thinks Lorne's behavior is odd or out of character should remember that he suffered a nasty concussion!


	76. Scheherazade

**Setting: **During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 2.04, "Duet"  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN:** This was inspired in part by the beautiful violin leitmotif from Rimsky-Korsakov's symphonic suite _Scheherazade_. If you have never heard it before, you are missing something extraordinary.

* * *

><p>Evan supposed he could have put off his inspection of the latest supplies they'd received from their Pegasus trading partners until the morning, but he was feeling a bit restless. It was late; the sun had long set, and most of the inhabitants of Atlantis had retired to their quarters for the evening, except the night-shift crew and the scientists, led by Dr. Zelenka, working on the McKayCadman problem, which had caused no small amount of stress for a good portion of the city.

Though McKay was only sharing his body with one other person – Lieutenant Cadman - Evan could not help but remember the situation in which Daniel Jackson had found himself a couple years back. Evan had been away on P3X-403 at the time, but he'd been more than a little thankful he hadn't been forced to witness someone he knew occupied by a dozen other minds all begging to be saved. One (two?) was bad enough.

As he neared the 'warehouse' area, Sergeant Pinvidic's domain, he heard something remarkable, and all his worries evaporated like wisps of smoke: a pure, high note of music hanging in the air. For a breath, it held, like a perfect moment in time, captured and crystallized. Then more notes followed, each as sweet and almost haunting as the first, echoing down the corridor. Captivated, Evan closed his eyes and simply _listened_. It was almost hard to believe that the sound was being produced at the hand of a human being.

Finally, the music ended. Evan blinked, as if waking up from a dream. Just as he made up his mind to go forward, new tones filled the air, this time deeper, perhaps less hauntingly pure but still rich and vibrantly moving. Evan thought he recognized it as one of the Bach cello suites, which had such deceptively bland, unimaginative names that no one remembered. To his surprise, though, the violin joined it a moment later, soaring above the cello arpeggios in breathtaking harmony - someone had improvised a violin accompaniment.

Suddenly, he heard the quiet, mingling laughter of two people, as if they were sharing some intimate joke. He winced, feeling like he was intruding on something intensely private.

It _was _late; the inventory could wait, Evan decided. He headed back towards the transporter, a smile on his face. Who knew that there were such wonderful acoustics down here?


	77. Zen Math

**Setting**: _Stargate: SG-1 _mid season 8 / _Stargate Atlantis_ mid season 1  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.

* * *

><p>Joanne was not a woman Evan would describe as "retiring." Not in her appearance, not in her demeanor, and definitely not in her behavior. She was a five foot four inch firecracker. Her black hair and brilliant blue eyes would make her stand out anywhere, but it was her impish grin that really drew people in.<p>

And her wedding dress hit all the right curves, that was for sure. Evan couldn't help but smile as he looked down the table at the bride, who was laughing at some joke that her new husband had whispered in her ear. Coughlin cleaned up well in his dress blues, too, and the brilliant smile on his own face didn't ruin the effect, either.

The reception hall was awash with Air Force blues, actually. Evan knew most of the guests, either from the SGC or from his time at Nellis. Reed and Stevens, of course, had seats at the head table. Evan was pleased to see Simon Wells and his wife Marci present, having found a babysitter for little Janet, almost a year old already and destined to be a heart breaker. At another table, Sgt. Harriman and Sgt. Siler were holding some sort of deep discussion; whatever it was, it involved a lot of narrowed eyes, hand gestures, and non-verbal communication, to judge by what Evan could see. Likely SGC shop talk, coded for public venue. Those two... Ben Macy was at the same table with his wife; no doubt she was enjoying the 'vacation' with her husband. Free time was notoriously hard to come by for San Francisco police inspectors. Mace, for his own part, was clearly loving the hors d'oeuvres - and his wife placing them in his mouth, one at a time. The SGC Wives Club was _definitely _out in force, too: Lt. Ritter's widow, plus the wives of Colonel Edwards, Colonel Dixon, and many others whose husbands were currently off-world. Joanne was definitely joining an exclusive, close-knit social circle.

Just then, Joanne's brother Roy spoke up, his voice amplified by the microphone in his hand. That kid sure loved being the MC. "Okay, everyone, before we get to the important part of this little shindig - you know, the food - it's time for the best man to give his speech. So, let's give it up for Major! Evan! Lorne!" With the same wicked grin as his sister, Roy handed over the microphone as the hall filled with whoops and cheers.

Evan shook his head, grinning broadly as he stood and accepted the mic. "When Coughlin here told me he was getting married, I was a little surprised. I mean, how could he possibly find a woman who would put up with his antics every day for the rest of their lives?" The was a roll of laughter from the guests. "But then, I heard _who _he was marrying," Evan continued. "And I said to him, 'Isn't she the one who got you with one of your own booby traps?'"

There was more laughter and a few catcalls directed in Coughlin's direction. Joanne winked and elbowed her husband in the side, much to the pleasure of the guests.

Evan continued, drowning the last few hoots. "Coughlin and I first met when we were stationed at Nellis. A few of us have some really fond memories of Nellis. Yes, I'm looking at you, Mace - as I recall, he totally whipped your team in a training exercise that left _you_ bobbing around in a lake!"

"Well, at least I did got a really great swim out of the deal!" Mace called out. His wife was laughing silently, her shoulders shaking and tears streaming down her face as she leaned against his shoulder.

"Anyhow," Evan went on, "one day he told me about this great girl he had been dating, and from the way he described her, I really thought she was a figment of his imagination. Sorry, Joanne, but how often do you find a woman who's totally hot, smart, _and _funny? Well, then I met her, and, let me tell you, I was insanely jealous. Of course, I soon found out that she's into practical jokes, too, so my jealousy suddenly evaporated!" There was another round of laughter. Evan turned to face Coughlin and Joanne directly.

"But what was truly miraculous was when you two found each other again here in Colorado Springs. And, while I don't believe in destiny, this certainly comes pretty close. Coughlin, Joanne, you two will be as happy as two people have any right to be. I heard somewhere that one plus one equals one, and the word for that is 'love'. And, let me tell you, you two got it. Just give the rest of us fair warning when you start having kids so we can make a run for it before the world ends!"

Evan handed back the microphone to Roy as the hall erupted into cheers again.

"Okay," said Roy, "now that that's done, who wants some _food_?"

**A/N: **I sure ended up referencing my own writing a lot in this chapter! The character of Mace first appeared in chapter 71, "Restraint". The incident in which Mace ended up in the lake during the training exercise was mentioned back in chapter 41, "Vetting a New Recruit". Coughlin informed Lorne of his pending nuptials in chapter 67, "Amber Waves of Grain".

The bit about one plus one equaling one is from the TV series _Life_, specifically its final episode.


	78. Shamrocks

**Setting: **Between _Stargate SG-1 _episode 7.22, "Lost City, Part II" and _Stargate: Atlantis_ episode 1.01, "Rising."  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN: **This is a short one, just to say Happy St. Patrick's Day!

* * *

><p>Evan stood in the doorway to the locker room, a bemused expression on his face. He could hardly be blamed for his state of mind; after all, the entire room - ceiling, doors, and all - had been covered in wrapping paper with countless little green shamrocks on it. And, to make it even more mind-boggling, the lockers weren't simply covered over, either. Their doors were individually wrapped so they could still be opened.<p>

"Now that's a lot of wrapping paper," said Colonel Reynolds, who had come up behind Evan and was peering over his shoulder appreciatively. "How did he get it done so fast?"

Evan stepped inside, staring around in amazement. "I never put anything past that man when he really wants it," he replied, admiration coloring his voice. There was no confusion in Evan's mind about to whom Colonel Reynolds was referring. Inwardly, he wondered whether Coughlin wasn't getting any help from Reed with this little St. Patrick's Day project. It would figure.

"You're definitely going to miss him when you're off gallivanting on Atlantis, aren't you?" the colonel grinned.

"I doubt anyone could ever replace him, sir." Evan would definitely miss having Coughlin and Reed and Stevens, no doubt about it. The three men were more than just members of his team - they were his friends through the thick of it. But he'd known Coughlin the longest, since they'd been stationed at Nellis together, and there was no denying that the man's puckish nature made for some downright hilarious times, even considering their jobs.

"You'll make do, I'm sure." Reynolds went over to one of the tables and picked up a towel that had been wrapped and carefully folded in precise military fashion. "Amazing. This is a lot of work to go through for St. Patrick's Day," he observed.

Evan chuckled wryly. "He's Irish - it's a compulsion of his. You should probably check your pens and pencils, too, just to make sure they haven't suddenly become green since yesterday."


	79. Notifications

**Setting: **During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 2.08, "Conversion".  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN: **This chapter is a follow-on to chapter 10, "The Burden of Command." This chapter is dedicated to the casualty notification officers of the armed forces, who meet people on the worst days of their lives. Their duty is a weighty one, and while I do not envy them their task, I do respect and honor them for it.

* * *

><p>Evan set up the camera, successfully quelling the slight tremor in his hands as he placed it on the tripod. Colonel Sheppard obviously wasn't in a position to record anything; Dr. Weir had offered to do the notification for him, or to wait a day or two to come to terms himself before making the video, or to have Colonel Caldwell do it, but he refused.<p>

"_Their families deserve to know now, and they deserve to hear it from me,"_ Evan had told her. "_They were my men." _And he wouldn't let Caldwell do it; much as he respected the man, the colonel hadn't known Walker or Stevens at all.

Weir had smiled kindly, laying a hand on his shoulder, before sending someone for the camera. Now Evan sat down, staring into the lens and mustering the courage to begin.

"Mr. Walker, my name is Major Evan Lorne. I deeply regret to inform you that your brother was killed in the line of duty. He died while on a mission to save the life of a comrade, and I can't stress enough the heroism and courage he displayed during our brief time together. Though I didn't know him well, he always impressed me with his intelligence, dedication, and strength of character. Know that his sacrifice was not in vain, and that we will miss his presence here, and the occasional debates he had with some of our colleagues, often about stuff way over my head, like the Schrödinger equation, or Planck's constant, or Bohr versus Einstein in quantum mechanics. He was a quiet guy most of the time, but when he had something to say, he made sure everyone heard it. I can tell you without reservation that it was both an honor and a privilege to serve with him."

He closed his eyes and sighed. That was the easy one. The next one would be far more difficult for him. Evan's eyes stung for a moment, and his swallowed down the grief that was still all too fresh.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, my name is Major Evan Lorne. It is my profoundly sad duty to inform you that your son recently died in the line of duty while on a mission to save the life of a fellow officer. While I can't tell you the manner or place of his death, I can assure you that he did not view this sacrifice as meaningless or vain. Your son served under my command for the past several years, and I always counted him among the best people I have ever known. He will be missed, both as a fellow officer and as a friend. His courage and selfless devotion to duty were an example to us all. I hope you take comfort in that he was a part of something truly amazing, and he saw things that few other people could even imagine."

Evan took a deep breath and suddenly chuckled, an impossible smile on his face.

"And that, despite all the stuff we've seen, he kept his feet firmly on the ground. I know it's a funny thing to say about an Air Force guy, but he was one of the most down-to-earth people I've ever met. If anyone felt overwhelmed by the mission we face, he'd be there to help, to keep things in focus. He was always there when you needed him, even if he should have been in the infirmary and not disarming prank booby traps." Well, Stevens had found _one_. The other, unfortunately, had gotten both Dr. Jackson and Sgt. Siler. "Remember your son for the man he was, and always be proud of him. He was a good man, and I couldn't have asked for better to be my second in command."

Surprisingly, he felt a little bit better as he finished. Standing, he clicked off the camera. The messages would be sent to the SGC during the next scheduled dial-in, and they would forward it to the families. He pulled out the recording and put it in his pocket, next to the other recording already safely secreted there.

The one Stevens had made himself.

"_You sure you want me here for this? I mean, I can set up the tripod and give you some privacy if you want-" Evan offered, the camera in his hands._

"_Nah, that's fine, sir. If anything ever happens to me, I want you to make sure my folks get it, alright? I know I just got here an all-"_

"_That's right, dragging your gimpy foot the entire trip to Atlantis, what good are you?" Evan quipped, tempted to throw a pillow in Stevens's face, which would have severely compromised his dignity as second-in-command of the military forces of Atlantis._

_Stevens grinned. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, sir. The ankle's fine, thanks for asking. But seriously. If anything does happen to me out here... I want you to be the guy who holds onto this for me, makes sure this gets to my folks."_

"_Okay, I'll try not to make any inane comments, Stevens, but no promises," replied Evan, returning the grin cheerfully. Of course, neither of them was under any illusions about the dangers they faced; Stevens had been with the Program even longer than Evan had. So Evan held the camera steady and turned it on, clicking the 'record' button. "Okay, and we're on."_

"_Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. It's me. Obviously..."_


	80. Don't I Know You?

**Setting: **During _Stargate Atlantis _episode 3.10, "The Return, Part I", and following _Stargate: SG-1 _episode 10.04, "Insiders".  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN: **This chapter is a follow-up to both Chapter 3, "An Exciting New Career Opportunity" and Chapter 36, "Close Encounters." I also feel compelled to mention that I feel a bit sorry for Agent Barrett; he's a good guy, and all he gets is grief from the SGC. Some might remember that it was Barrett who brought attention to the bomb threat on Atlantis in episode 2.13, "Critical Mass," which resulted in the discovery that Colonel Caldwell had been taken by a Goa'uld.

* * *

><p>The old familiar corridors of Stargate Command seemed a bit claustrophobic after the open, brightly-lit architecture of Atlantis. It was strange to think that they probably wouldn't be returning to the city. Not that he personally begrudged the Ancients their chance to have Atlantis back - it <em>was <em>their city, after all - but there was a definite undercurrent of frustration among the former Expedition members.

If anyone had asked Evan's opinion, he would have said it was a foolish decision on the part of the Ancients to evict them from Atlantis. They had been out of touch for ten thousand years, for one; the tactical situation had changed greatly since they began their long journey, for one. While the Wraith weren't as great a threat as they had been, the Replicators presented a far more formidable problem than he thought they realized. And the Ancients seemed to undervalue the Expedition's sheer ingenuity and resourcefulness for surviving as long as they had under such conditions. They seemed to think of the humans as errant school kids playing with Dad's new Jag. Frankly, their condescension was annoying.

It seemed that pre-Ascension Ancients were just as obnoxious as post-Ascension Ancients.

Of course, there was still the problem of what to do with all the Expedition personnel that had returned to Earth. Some would be folded into SG teams, like Colonel Sheppard and Evan himself, others dispatched to bolster off-world outposts, but the simple fact remained that there simply wasn't room for most of them in Cheyenne Mountain. This issue is what resulted in Evan running into - almost literally - a surprisingly familiar man in a black suit.

Unescorted men in suits were something of a rarity around the SGC, which was what initially caught Evan's eye as he passed him in the corridor. Then he stopped, turned around, and called out. "Hey, wait a minute, haven't we met before?"

The man halted and turned back towards him. He had blue eyes set in a freckled face beneath short brown hair, familiar but not overly so. "Yeah, we've met before. It's nice to see you again, Major Lorne. Agent Malcolm Barrett, NID." He held out his hand politely.

It all came rushing back to Evan; if Barrett wasn't wearing exactly the same black suit as he had been, it was one just like it. Evan shook the proffered hand with a smile. "I remember you now. Nevada, near Nellis, a few years back. You and your Men In Black got the crap beaten out of you by some psycho guy..."

A wry grin crossed Barrett's face. "You have a good memory, Major. The subject wasn't crazy, though, just trying to escape. He made it all the way from Oregon before we caught up to him. Thanks to you, we were able to take him into custody and free him from the symbiote that was controlling him."

Evan's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. "That guy was a snakehead?" he asked incredulously.

"More or less," Barrett confessed, somewhat sheepishly. "You probably read the SGC incident report at some point. Not one of the NID's shinier moments, let me assure you."

"Sooooo," Evan said, politely changing the subject, "what brings you to our little secret base today, Agent Barrett?"

"You, actually."

"Me?" he asked in confusion.

"Well, yes and no. As you're well aware, since the Atlantis Expedition was recalled, there's an overflow of personnel at the SGC. Even if you formed new teams or sent people to off-world outposts like the Alpha Site, there'll be a lot of experienced people that really shouldn't be going to waste," Barrett elaborated. "I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Oh, I see," Evan drawled. "You're here to poach personnel. Well, good luck with that."

Barrett winced ever so slightly. "I know the NID doesn't have the best reputation here," he replied, "but not all of us are the scum of the earth. I think I've personally earned the respect of a few people around here, including Colonel Carter. In any case, we won't be _forcing_ anyone to work for us. If that were the case, you'd have been recruited by the NID four years ago, and not the SGC."

"What do you mean?"

"How'd you think your name came up on the SGC's radar, Major?" Barrett said frankly. "After that incident near Nellis, I looked you up. I was _this close _to trying to get you into the NID, but I figured your qualifications at the time made you a better fit at the SGC, so I shot Major Davis an e-mail."

Evan blinked several times. He'd always wondered how he came to Davis's attention. Even now, a lot of the recruitment for the Stargate Program came by word-of-mouth recommendations. "Really."

"Yeah. Of course, now you've served as a 302 pilot, team leader, and second-in-command of the Atlantis military forces. You have valuable off-world experience that most of us simply don't have. I can't tell you enough how the NID needs men like you, _good _men." He spoke rapidly, a strange note of desperation coloring his voice. Evan noticed his hands clenching and unclenching, likely an unconscious gesture. There was also a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, despite the mild temperature maintained in the underground facility.

"Agent Barrett, are you okay?" Evan asked, slightly concerned.

Barrett glanced down at his hands and grimaced, muttering a curse under his breath. "Yeah, I'm fine." He smiled somewhat nervously. "The Rite of M'al Sharran is a real bitch, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Anyway," he said hastily, glancing at his watch, "it was nice talking with you. Maybe someday we'll work together."

Without waiting for Evan to say goodbye, Agent Barrett took off down the hall.


	81. Colonel Caldwell's Going To Be Upset

**Setting: **Following _Stargate: Atlantis_ episode 2.02, "The Intruder".  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate _franchise.  
><strong>AN: **This chapter contains explicit references to drug use and related bad behavior. I figure that Atlantis would face its own problems in that regard, especially due to the enormous amount of stress its inhabitants find themselves under on a daily basis.

* * *

><p>"Major Lorne, sir," called a voice from behind him. Evan swiveled around to see the huge form of a Marine coming up behind him. In one arm was a crate, probably one recently offloaded from <em>Daedalus<em>.

"Yeah, what's up? Sergeant Pinvidic, wasn't it?" asked Evan, eying the crate curiously.

The big bald Marine grimaced slightly. "Yes, sir, that's right. I was inventorying the supplies we received from Earth, sir, and I discovered something you should be aware of." He set the crate carefully on a nearby railing and popped the catches.

Evan peered inside. "Is that what I think it is?" he remarked in bemusement.

"Yes, sir," Pinvidic replied. "A few crates got mislabeled - personal stuff got mixed with the other stuff - so I had to recheck everything by hand. And, lo and behold, someone is smuggling a pot plant to Pegasus."

Pinvidic had a well-established reputation himself, for being able to get his hands on pretty much anything. For a few moments, Evan wasn't sure that the sergeant wasn't more annoyed that someone else was trying to edge in on his business. Apparently, Pinvidic read something in his face, because his lips twisted upwards in a ghost of a smirk. "I'm sure you're aware that some of the men's activities are... less than regulation, sir. Happens at any posting, never mind one in a galaxy far, far away, where you're under constant threat of death by life-sucking alien vamps. But drugs are bad news," the sergeant said, his face growing deadly serious. "A few guys have been caught getting high off the local Pegasus peyote, and about three months back, Sergeant Bates caught a couple of geniuses turning allergy meds into meth after someone OD'ed and ended up in the infirmary. And 'round here, you _really _don't want to press the wrong button by accident because you're too stoned to tell the difference. Sir. Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard take the matter very seriously."

Evan let out a sigh. It didn't surprise him, not at all. No matter how many psychological screenings they put the personnel through, such things were bound to happen under the incredible circumstances in which they operated. He suspected the worst cases were shipped back to Earth with the wounded after _Daedalus_ broke the Wraith siege of the city. With one last glance at the marijuana plant secreted in the crate, Evan snapped the lid shut. It was best to take care of this problem when it was still manageably small. If Pinvidic hadn't found the plant, its owner could've easily set up shop almost anywhere in the city, and no one would be the wiser. "So, are we thinking that one of the new personnel brought this with them from Earth?" he asked.

"That's my opinion, sir, yes. Though there's the possibility that one of the guys here bribed an airman on _Daedalus_ to bring it back. Obviously, it wasn't in the crate for three weeks. Someone probably had it in some closet for the bulk of the trip, and then packed it up and put it with the rest of the crates to be offloaded. Not too bright a move there, sir - all the other crates have bar codes so I know where they're going. That's one of the reasons I opened it up in the first place." Pinvidic shook his head expressively.

"I'll take the crate, then. This sounds like something the higher-ups should know." Especially Colonel Caldwell; he was _not_ going to be happy that someone on his ship was involved in smuggling drugs - Caldwell was a straight-laced as they come. Solitaire on the _Daedalus_ computers was one thing; this was a whole other level. "Oh, and Sergeant...?"

Pinvidic stared down at Evan, somehow managing to appear both military-stiff and utterly relaxed at the same time. "Sir?"

"Good work. And thanks for bringing this to my attention."

The sergeant nodded respectfully. "My pleasure, sir."


	82. Water in the Desert

**Setting: **During _Stargate: Atlantis_ season 2  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.  
><strong>AN: **I'd like to wish all my readers a very happy and blessed Easter - this is the holiest day of the Christian calendar, and period of great rejoicing.

* * *

><p>The heavy sun beat down oppressively on the team as they trudged through the rolling dunes - it was hot, there were not two ways about it. The sweat dripped down their faces, stinging their eyes. So far, there were no signs of any habitation, recent or ancient (or Ancient, for that matter). Then again, whatever may have been here in the past probably was buried under tons of sand.<p>

No one had energy or the enthusiasm for the cheerful conversation that normally accompanied them on standard recon missions; even Coughlin was silent as he took a generous swig from his canteen. Evan had made up his mind to turn them back towards the Gate once they crossed the next dunes when they suddenly seemed to step into another world altogether.

Spread before them was a vast array of greenery, as if all the plant life on the planet had congregated in that one spot. Bird song sounded muffled through the thick growth, and they could hear the distant sound of running water. Brilliant, jewel-like blossoms punctuated the foliage in an almost dizzying display of color.

"Wow," Coughlin managed to say through parched lips.

"This, I was not expecting," Reed said in a level voice, as if he were remarking on the weather and not the sudden, dazzling appearance of verdance in the middle of the desert.

Evan spotted a worn path through the growth, probably a game path given the lack of any other signs of human life. "Well, we came this far. Might as well see where this goes."

The moment they stepped under the thick canopy, the temperature seemed to drop dramatically; while not necessarily cool, it was much more bearable than the oppressive heat in the dunes. Spring was in full bloom, it seemed, and the air here was filled with the pungent fragrance of a thousand flowers. They followed the path for a few minutes under the shadows of the overgrowth, the sound of water growing louder. Finally, they emerged from the trees at the very foot of an enormously wide river - Evan could barely spot the far shore in the distance. The river itself flowed rapidly off into the distance, curving away and vanishing around a bend.

"Sir, I think this river actually flows in an arc back towards the Gate," Coughlin said, craning his neck for a better look.

"Yeah, that'd be my guess, too - we just happened to take the longest route to get here," Evan replied wryly. "Fun times."

Reed scoffed lightly at his teammates. "With all due respect, sir, you both are real pansies. It was a nice little nature hike, that's all."

"Y'know, Reed, sometimes I hate you so much," Coughlin retorted, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Let's face it, Coughlin, you only say that because you love him," teased Evan good naturedly. Suddenly, there was a cacophony of wings and bird song as an enormous flock of sapphire blue avians took to the air; there were so many of them that the pale blue of the sky was nearly blocked out. It was truly awe-inspiring.

Evan couldn't help but smile as he watched the birds fly in that enormous flock towards the other side of the river to vanish into the canopy there.

He heard Coughlin chuckle briefly. "Hey, is it me, or did we just have an encounter with local wildlife that _didn't_ try to eat us?"

"I know what you mean," Evan replied in amusement. "Once in awhile, it _does_ happen, contrary to popular belief!"


	83. The Beginning in the End

**Setting: **Following _Stargate: Atlantis_ episode 5.20, "Enemy at the Gate."  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful day in San Francisco.<p>

Everyone knew that the future of the Atlantis Expedition was up in the air at the moment, with the city stuck on Earth at least for the time being. Evan Lorne understood, of course, why the IOA didn't want to let them go back to Pegasus - as far as they were concerned, why let the most advanced (and totally irreplaceable) technology the human race possesses go back to another (extremely dangerous) galaxy when they could keep safely it in arm's reach?

Personally, though, he figured that was a bit shortsighted; they had a responsibility to the people of Pegasus, one Richard Woolsey had made quite clear when he thrust the Expedition into the middle of galactic politics.

With a soft sigh, Evan leaned against the balcony railing and gazed out across the rippling waters to one of the most familiar sights from his childhood. Though, to be sure, he normally saw the Golden Gate Bridge from land, as opposed to an invisible city floating on the water just outside San Francisco Bay. It was a little bit eerie, he admitted to himself, to have his past and present come together in such a way. He could almost imagine that his mom and dad were somewhere over there, staring right through him.

Six-plus years with the Stargate Program totally skewed a guy's perception of 'normal.' His life, Evan thought wryly, could very easily have been story from the pen of a science fiction writer at 2 a.m. after consuming copious amounts of Jolta-Cola, ten cups of coffee, and possibly a couple joints.

He worked in a city that could fly through space, and wrangled scientists who thought that accidentally blowing up a solar system was a slight miscalculation (_cough-Rodney-cough_). Here, they talked about fighting life-sucking alien vampires with deadly seriousness, traveled to other planets on a regular basis, encountered versions of themselves from alternate realities/timelines, and discussed the practical problems of time travel. It was, to put in plainly, a pretty ridiculous life.

If he'd told himself ten years ago that this was what his life would be like, his younger self would probably have called the nice men in white coats to take him some place he couldn't do himself an injury.

_On the other hand..._

Evan contemplated the Bridge, the sun glinting off the windshields of mid-afternoon traffic crossing the Bay. The people here on Atlantis, despite the craziness that existed all around them, lived, and loved, and lost, much the same as anyone else. There were rough days at the office, and personal triumphs, friendships made and broken, pranks pulled and missions accomplished.

The only difference was that everything in the Stargate Program was just a bit... bigger.

With a chuckle, Evan headed back to his room to grab his easel and paints. The view was practically begging to be captured, after all. Might as well oblige.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:  
><strong>Thank you all for reading! It has really been a joy writing all these stories. I have begun reposting new, updated, and extended versions of these one shots in chronological order under the _SG-1_/_Atlantis_ crossover fic "All In a Day's Work." The new versions are sufficiently different from the originals that I didn't want to just replace every chapter of "Conversations & Observations". In any event, I hope you enjoy them just as much as the originals.


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